Rogues' Gallery
by DrMckay
Summary: SW X-Wing/nuBSG Crossover: A Post-honeymoon vacation for ace pilot Wedge Antilles and his new wife Iella goes awry as they and their friends end up adrift in the Unknown Regions, and encounter a fleet of humans pursued by an armada of killer droids.
1. Chapter 1

**Standard Disclaimer: **Star Wars belongs to George Lucas, Wraith Squadron belongs to Aaron Allston and Battlestar Galactica belongs to Ron More and Co. The idea to cross them was mine. Please don't sue.

**Author's Note: **

I really enjoy Battlestar Galactica, and am also a huge fan of the Star Wars X-wing novels from a very young age, especially the ones written by Aaron Allston. His lifelike characters are a joy to read. This is a tribute to pilots everywhere, fictional and non, the job they do, why they do it and the all the crazy things that can happen to them along the way. The story has been in the planning stages for a while, although I've only recently started writing it, so updates may come slowly. However, I wanted to get out at least one chapter out to test the proverbial waters, so let me know what you think. Consider it a holo-day gift (Sorry, couldn't resist.) Please enjoy:

Rogues' Gallery: a Battlestar Galactica/Star Wars X-Wing Crossover

**Dramatis Personae:**

**New Republic Forces:**

General Wedge Antilles-Human Male from Corellia

Colonel Tycho Celchu-Human Male from Alderaan

Major Wes Janson-Human Male from Taanab

Major Derek "Hobbie" Klivian- Human Male from Ralltiir

New Republic Intelligence Agent Iella Wessiri Antilles-Human Female From Corellia

NRI Agent Winter-Human Female from Alderaan

R5-G8, "Gate"-Wedge's Astromech Droid

**The Twelve Colonies Remnant:**

**Civilians:**

President Laura Roslin-Human Female from Caprica

Doctor Gaius Baltar-Human Male from Aerilon

Tom Zarek-Human Male from Saggittaron

**Battlestar Galactica:**

Commander William "Husker" Adama-Human Male from Caprica

Colonel Saul Tigh-Human Male from Aerilon

Captain Aaron Kelly-Landing Signals Officer

Lieutenant Felix Gaeta

Doctor Cottle- _Galactica _CMO

Sergant Hadrian-_Galactica _Master-at-Arms

Gunny Erin Mathias

Chief Petty Officer Galen Tyrol

Petty Officer Anastasia Dualla

**Pilots:**

Captain Lee "Apollo" Adama-Human Male from Caprica

Lieutenant Kara "Starbuck" Thrace

Lieutenant Sharon "Boomer" Valerii

Lieutenant "Racetrack" Edmondson

Lieutenant Alex "Crashdown" Quartararo

Lieutenant George "Catman" Birch

Nuggets:

Cadet Brendan "Hot Dog" Costanza

Sergeant Donald "Chuckles" Perry

Cadet Louanne "Kat" Katraine

Cadet Lindsay "Stepchild" Robinson

**Chapter 1: Honeymoon**

_**"We're going to try to subvert an Imperial admiral"  
"Oh," Hobbie said. "Something easy. While you're doing that why don't Wes and I smuggle ourselves onboard **_**Agonizer**_** and destroy her with thrown rocks."  
Wedge gave him a grin. "With the right tools-say, a hundred thousand ewoks and a month to prepare, you could probably do that. In the meantime, we **__**have**__** the right tools to subvert our Imperial admiral."  
"What tools?"  
"Oh, Wes's maturity, your optimism and my diplomatic skills."  
Hobbie buried his face in his hands. "We're doomed."**_

**- ****Starfighters of Adumar****, **

**By Aaron Allston**

TOGORIA,

ONE MONTH AFTER THE EVENTS OF STARFIGHTERS OF ADUMAR

_Togoria is perfect,_ thought Wedge Antilles, as he rolled over in bed to look at the beautiful woman with dark blond hair who was lying next to him, still asleep. Her name, as of two weeks ago, was Iella Wessiri Antilles.

The ceremony had been relatively quiet, for one of the Heroes of the New Republic (with an action figure and everything;) held in the Corellian Section of Coruscant's famed Botanical Gardens, and with only the attendance of the Solos, Luke, the surviving Rouges and Wraiths, and a few other acquaintances, among them, the private owner of an Imperial Star Destroyer MkII, his daughter (in attendance as a bridesmaid,) and "that panty-waisted CorSec bastard she married" hiding from the aforementioned Star Destroyer owner behind the bar.

_It _was_ nice of Booster to offer a honeymoon cruise on the Errant Venture, but I've still gotta thank Han for giving our bona fides to the Togorians. Beautiful beaches, nice weather, and oh yeah; they exile or imprison anyone who tries to land without authorization. No autographs to sign on this leave._

Wedge looked at his wife again, and smiled.

_My wife. Never thought I'd use those words in that order._

Oddly enough for a New Republic Intel Operative, she liked to sleep in when she could, which, during three weeks they had spent here, was often.

Not that Wedge was an early riser; a pilot got what sleep he could, whenever he had the chance.

_I think Janson actually tried getting some rack time while in the 'fresher after Brentaal. Brought a pillow and everything. The man's committed-or he should be._

However, being woken up by a balmy gust of air through the window _did_ give him the chance to do other good-husbandy things like cooking breakfast, and making the caf.

Especially making the caf, as one could stand a spoon upright in the brand the New Republic Bureaucracy and Military survived off of, and according to Iella, CorSec had its own formula, the so called "Morning Madness." Although purported to be an occupational secret, Wedge had resolved to obtain the formula (to be used for the greater security of the galaxy) through the use of 'creative interrogation techniques.'

_That was when I found out I was more ticklish than she was. Not by much, mind you, but tactics still had to be re-evaluated._

He grinned as he remembered what happened after. And after, and after.

_Blast! Still didn't get the formula. But I've got the rest of my life to try._

He was just setting the percolation alarm when Iella began to stir.

"Wedge?" she asked sleepily.

"Actually, the name's Loran. Garik Loran, teen heartthrob. You may remember me from such films as _the Black Bantha, _or _Desert_-mppph!."

A thrown pillow to the face derailed his train of thought. Iella got up from the bed wearing a flimsy-something-to reclaim her pillow, managing to send the aforementioned train to a bizarre parallel dimension.

The vision of beauty snorted,

"Oh please, you're far too handsome to impersonate that scarred-up reprobate with delusions of wit."

"Maybe I'm that Wes Janson the Adumari kept talking about, something about a 'Darling One?'"

"Having eliminated the scarred-up-reprobate category, we've moved on to the immature children? Besides, I've always appreciated _diligence_ more."

"I'll say you have-"

"Diligence in cooking your wife breakfast, and in the making of the caf. It shall be rewarded."

She walked over and kissed him.

"Oooh," said Wedge, when he could talk again, "incentive."

Iella grinned,

"And we've still got another…" she checked the alarm chrono that had been hurled against the wall when it insisted on waking her up, "…three hours before the other members of the _Coral Vanda _Inspection Team arrive."

Holding hands, they sat on the room's sofa, sipping two steaming cups of caf on the small table, luxuriating in the warmth of the cups, and each other.

"It was nice of Cracken to set that up," said Wedge, "That's one of those places you need to reserve months in advance. I think it was an apology for the whole 'Tomer-Darpen-Trying-to-Kill-Us thing,' and as a continued apology to Tycho for the whole 'Using-Him-as-Bait-While-Tracking-Down-Isard's-Agent' thing…"

"Thus explaining why his and Winter's vouchers were included a prepaid two-week cruise on the _Tinta Sunrise_ before meeting us," Iella interjected, "But I thought Tycho didn't ask for anything in compensation?"

Wedge nodded; "He didn't. Cracken made the _Vanda _offer for all of Red Squad-the cruise was separate-and Winter-ah-talked him into accepting it. You NRI Operatives can be-"

"Persuasive?" Asked Iella, as she ran a hand down his tunic fastenings.

"Yeah. Something like that," Wedge grinned, "Sooo, three hours, huh?"

Iella gave a smile that would not appear amiss on a Trandalon eyeing an unprotected herd of Nerfs

"More like six. I talked to Mrrov, Wes is getting "detained" for smuggling."

Wedge raised an eyebrow,

"By the Togorians? For three hours? Isn't that a bit-"

"Harsh? No. This is vengeance for the Girls' Night before the wedding."

"Still not letting that one go?" he chuckled, looking into her beautiful brown eyes, "Sooooo. Six hours, huh?"

Iella's arms encircled his chest, the smile unchanged

"Shut up and kiss me, hotshot."

"Work, work, work…" Wedge muttered, as their lips met.

SENTINEL-CLASS SHUTTLE _PHANAN'S INTELLECT_

TOGORIA ORBIT,

SIX AND A HALF HOURS LATER

"Three hours." Moaned Janson, "Three Vader-dammed hours sitting in that holding cell watching _Gungans coming to Dinner_ over and over and over. It's enough to convince me never to have kids if I have to watch _that_ again. How could you do that to me, Boss?"

The perpetually youthful Tanaabian pilot had a shell-shocked look on his face that would induce guilt and pity in any who had not known him for years. Unfortunately for Wes, and to Wedge's never-ending exasperation, he had.

"Oh?" Interjected Hobbie, "I thought Shalla finding you with her sister and kicking you _there_ repeatedly had kinda-uh removed kids from your future plans. Along with-well, you know- other fun stuff."

Janson's shell-shocked look morphed into one indicating the astounding betrayal his friend had just committed.

"I thought we agreed,-_Derek-_ that we would never speak of that again."

Wedge gave a snicker completely unbefitting a General and Hero of the New Republic,

"Please-Who do you think got the security holocam footage-and sent it to _Coruscant's Funniest _

_Holotapes_?"

Janson shot a pleading look at his C.O. "You wouldn't-Would you?"

"That depends." Said Wedge, turning to his wife, "Dear, have you had enough vengeance for what Wes did on your Girls' Night?"

Janson looked at Iella and blanched, "It was _you._ You did this to me. That Togorian said she had _needs_. I could either watch the holo or- or…" he shuddered, drawing himself up, and looking imploringly at Iella,

"Agent Wesseri Antilles, I humbly beg pardon for the offence- yes, that one, that I caused. Please don't kill me or humiliate me further."

"Good enough for now." Iella grumbled, "I'm going to go strap in, I think Tycho and Winter have had enough 'alone time.' Well, don't just stand there Wedge, fly the ship. She cocked her head, "I know you want to, you've been planetside for two weeks, and mosgoth riding just doesn't cut it." With that, she walked into the rear cabin, leaving Wedge to the questionable mercy of his fellow, single pilots.

SHUTTLE _PHANAN'S INTELLECT_

TWO JUMPS FROM PANTOLOMIN

While Wedge was busy enough navigating a shuttle, sorting out the chaos that was Wes and Hobbie left him with a warm feeling that he had trouble placing. He had either missed them, or the urge to kill them was rising again. This was about par for his interactions with the duo.

After laying in a shorter course used by the military for the next to last leg of the trip, wedge turned to Tycho, who had joined him in the cabin,

"I'm confused, Tych, Why bring Gate along?"

Tycho's aristocratic features contorted themselves into a smile, a rare occurrence for the solemn Alderaanian.

"Did you want the official reason, or the actual reason?"

"Official first please,"

"Officially, he's here to keep an eye on the new Hyperspace Motivator Emtrey 'found' and to repair it if needed"

"And the actual reason?"

"Actually, he's going along because Whistler hasn't been there yet, and wants to rub it in his er…"

"Photoreceptors?" Wedge offered.

"Yeah," said Tycho, "Let's go with that. Course plotted?"

"Just about…"

The sensor board lit up, and the dagger shape of an Interdictor cruiser resolved in front of them.

_This can't be good._

Without bothering to verify ID, Wedge sent the shuttle into a stomach-straining turn-loop to port, narrowly avoiding the Ion Cannon blast that passed through the space that _Phanan's Intellect _had just occupied. His eyes flicked over to the Navicomputer, numbers still ticking down to a precise course, and a quick check of sensors reported increased mass anomalies as the Cruiser powered up its Gravity Well Generators.

_No Choice._

"Close enough- punch it, Tycho!"

As the blond man pushed the Hyperspace Activation lever, a near miss from the Interdictor Cruiser's Ion cannon fried part of the heavily modified Hyperspace Motivator acquired by Rogue Squadron's rogue quartermaster. Instead of the normal white streaks, the stars turned red-

And everything else went black.

COCKPIT, _PHANAN'S INTELLECT_

LOCATION UNKNOWN

As Wedge came to, he noticed several things. First, he noticed that most of the cockpit systems were offline, even the backups, the exceptions being inertial compensators and environmental systems, the most redundant of all. Secondly, he noticed that the _Intellect _was in a lateral clockwise spin, judged by staring out the viewport, and observing a red moon and a gas giant.

Third, he saw Tycho come to.

"Tych. Status?"

"Green boss. What in the Seven Hells was that?"

Wedge shook his head to clear the cobwebs before checking the other occupants of the shuttle. As he did, he noticed several bright glints out the viewport. Eight, to be precise. As they grew closer, Wedge could see them in detail. They were silver-gray in color, fighter sized, and comprised of what looked like a central control area extending to curved wings swept forward into points.

He pointed towards them,

"Better question: What in the Seven Hells are _those_?"

The ships grew larger, and Wedge felt a sense of foreboding as he was able to make out cannon in the wing roots, and an oscillating red light coming from the center of each craft.

He glanced at Tycho, who was shaking his head.

_Don't say it, don't you dare-_

"Boss, I've got a bad feeling about this."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **

As a reviewer kindly pointed out to me, there is an immense technological disparity between the Star Wars Galaxy and the nBSGverse. I am attempting to rectify this imbalance. Thank you, "Agent Fisher." Again, if anyone has legitimate questions or criticism, feel free to email me or put it into a review, and I'll attempt to address it as promptly as possible. Hope I did a good job on Starbuck.

I hate long author's notes as much as anyone, and will try to keep any others as short as possible.

Now! On with the story, Enjoy!

**Chapter 2: Gift from the Gods**

**Vipers - Space****  
**_**Starbuck: **__**All right, listen up, nuggets: stay together and keep your throttles firewalled until you hit that deck. Now go.  
**__**  
**_**Galactica - Command**_**  
**__**Adama: **__**What is she doing?  
**__**Tigh:**__** Starbuck's gonna take on all eight... and get herself killed.**_

**-Battlestar Galactica Season One, "Act Of Contrition" Final Scene**

UNKNOWN SYSTEM, NEAR A GAS GIANT AND RED MOON

DURING THE FINAL MINUTES OF BATTLESTAR GALACTICA SEASON 1 EPISODE:

"ACT OF CONTRITION"

_No more Nuggets are gonna die because of me._

That thought drove Kara "Starbuck" Thrace as she sped toward the enemy.

To death. _To Zak._

As she watched the hostile DRADIS blips grow closer, Kara continually tried to justify her choice. She was doing this to save the Nuggets, so they could get trained up to protect the fleet.

And four lives were definitely worth hers. Lee could teach them. He wasn't a failure as a teacher, as a leader. And she couldn't look them in the eyes, neither him nor his father.

Hard enough after she told Lee-After she told the Old Man-

_He looked at her with pain in his eyes. Pain and anger. "Walk out of this cabin," He had said, in a voice choked with emotion, "While you still can."_

The _–beep-_ of the DRADIS board brought her back to herself.

_Focus, Starbuck, wouldn't do to die just yet_.

She glanced at it out of the corner of her eye, noticing a blip where there wasn't one before, relative down, between her and the raiders. No ID, Colonial or Cylon. And she was minutes away from a visual.

"Galactica, Starbuck, unknown contact appeared between me and the Raider force. Contact is shuttle sized or better, no velocity readings. Request instructions."

Three minutes to visual range. The wireless crackled.

**Starbuck, Galactica Actual. We see it too. Wait for the CAP…**

The board pinged again, and Starbuck observed the raiders change heading with an inhuman coordination. Directly for the new contact, and they weren't stopping.

Two minutes, thirty seconds.

"Galactica, Starbuck. Negative. Bandits have oriented on the Bogey and have assumed an attack profile. It could be one of ours."

**It could be a trap** Adama's voice responded.

"Sometimes you've got to roll the hard six, sir."

**Proceed,** he sighed

She switched the wireless frequency,

"CAP, Starbuck, Status?"

"Catman and Hex, Four minutes out…"

"Hotdog, one minute out. Never leave your leader."

Two minutes

"Frak. Hotdog, firewall your throttle, link up with me, we're gonna punch a hole through their formation, reorient, and cover our mystery ship. Catman, Hex, you boys got our six?"

"Just yours Starbuck," Hex responded, "it's prettier."

"Damn straight, Hex. Tighten up, we got toasters to frag."

One minute

Starbuck flexed her hand on the joystick a couple of times, loosening up. Saw Hotdog off her port side. Kid had balls.

"Hotdog, stay with me, and don't get cocky."

"Sir."

She took a deep breath, relaxing into the fake leather of her seat, watched the numbers scroll down on the readouts. Saw a gray blur as she passed the Bogey and watched the deadly silver shapes of the Raiders begin to grow larger.

"All Vipers, weapons free."

She oriented on the closest Raider, and opened fire.

SHUTTLE PHANAN'S INTELLECT

COCKPIT

"_Boss, I've got a bad feeling about this."_

Wedge looked at his friend, "Tych, can you give me shields, engines…" The blond man shook his head.

Wedge thumped the control console, "Get me something. Emergency restart, now!" As Tycho bent to the task, he glanced back to the cabin. "Everyone all right back there?"

"All except Hobbie."

_Iella's voice, thank the Force_

"Clipped his head on something, he's out cold."

Wedge gave a wry grin, "Wouldn't be a proper mission if Hobbie didn't get injured somehow. Strap yourselves in. It's gonna get bumpy."

The shuttle's cabin lights flickered once, twice, and stayed lit. "Got it, Boss, engines at fifty percent, thrusters online, environmental controls and dampers at eighty…"

Wedge immediately evened out the ship, and began to plot a limping course away from the menacing fighters, which had just opened fire.

"Tych- Weapons? Comms? Sensors?"

"No to the first, yes on the second, short range only on the third." Tycho glanced at the sensor board. "Two more contacts, higher thrust ratio. Detecting radio waves. Quaint. They don't look like the ones chasing us. They'll be on us in a minute, no time like the present for some Diplomacy."

Wedge nodded, pulling the _Intellect_ into a double barrel roll, and made a decision that would alter the course of Galactic history, "I think we've stumbled into someone else's war. I don't think the newcomers are planning on shooting us first, and there are only two of them. If we help them…"

"They might not decide to blow us away when it's over?" Asked Tycho.

"Precisely. Pity we haven't any weapons- Wait a minute, Tych, can you set the comms to transmit only to our rear, narrow band, high frequency?"

"Planning to ask them nicely not to shoot us?"

"More like tell 'em. Set for our rear arc. Don't want our new friends to get caught. Now to set them up for a nice large target…"

The shuttle's movements grew less erratic, and the silver fighters closed in for the kill.

Wedge thumbed the _Transmit_ button. As he did, he noticed the sensor readings of the fighters go erratic as two red and white blurs speed ever closer. When they passed over the cockpit, he ended the 'transmission.'

_Right,_ he thought to the newcomers, _I've done all I can. Finish it._

Starbuck flew through the silent explosion of the first Raider, tiny bits of its hull pinged and clanked off of hers. She checked six, and saw Hotdog, still alive, still on her tail. In fact, she noticed that several of the remaining raiders were moving erratically, or not at all.

_Sounds like what Boomer said the Cylons did to our guys._

She and her wingman reoriented for another pass on the three Raiders still moving, just as the CAP Vipers moved in on them.

Keying the wireless, she spoke, "I've got the middle one. Hotdog, pick up the one relative right, you guys got the other one."

**Yessir.**

**Confirmed**

**Acknowledged**

Hotdog opened fire, shredding his Raider, just as Starbuck's target, moving erratically, opened fire on him, shredding the tail section of his 'plane.

Static resolved into frantic words; **Krypter, krypter, Controls unresponsive, and I'm venting fuel, Punching out!**

She poured shells into the Raider, cursing herself for lethargy. Saw his cockpit canopy blow off, watched the boost of the ejection seat begin to ignite the leaked fuel. She could only hope he made it far enough away from the fight.

"All vipers, Starbuck. Finish 'em."

After the last Raider was blown to scrap, She saw the bogey begin to turn towards Hotdog's last position. Despite the fact that it had helped her, it still made her nervous. She keyed her wireless, transmitting in the clear,

"Unidentified vessel, unidentified vessel, this is Lieutenant Thrace, callsign 'Starbuck,' Colonial Fleet. Transmit ID now, and state your intentions, or you _will_ be fired upon." Under her breath, she muttered,

"It'd be a shame, too, as you left a good first impression."

As she awaited the reply, Kara took another glance at the mystery ship. Flat rectangular shape, small cockpit at the front, large stabilizer, and a smaller wing on each side, blocky engines glowing with a blue light completed the ensemble. Was it some kind of Colonial secret weapon?

A male voice, oddly accented in Colonial Standard, hit her speakers,

**This is General Wedge Antilles, New Republic Starfighter Command. I am a human in a coalition of over eleven thousand worlds and four thousand sentient species, currently piloting the Shuttle _Phanan's Intellect._ We encountered engine difficulties, and ended up here, wherever here is…"

_New Republic Starfighter Command? Didn't sound like any loony cult she was aware of. Sounded like a military organization. Wait. Four THOUSAND Species? SPECIES?_

The voice continued, amused, **Glad we made such a good impression, 'Starbuck.' Our weapons systems suffered a failure, and we had to improvise.**

_That was improvisation? Oh frak me._

**As far as intentions go, we request permission to rescue your extravehicular pilot. What were those hostile fighters, anyway?**

Her eyebrows shot up. Not Colonial, not Cylon, and not hostile.

She deferred to the First Contact Protocol learned by rote so many years ago at Fleet Academy. She returned in a formal, polite tone.

"Ah, General Antilles, sir, as your organization is presently unknown to us and not a member of the Twelve Colonies, I must decline your offer of aid at this moment."

She checked her board.

"A Raptor Recovery vessel is currently en route to our pilot. This would appear to be a First Contact Situation, and as such, I am obligated to pass your request to my commanding officer. It's above my pay grade, sir."

**Understood, Starbuck. Cutting thrust. Best be quick about your pilot though, it's a bit cold out there.**

She flipped frequencies. "Galactica Actual, Did you receive all that?"

Adama's voice came over the line. **Affirmative, Starbuck. I have it from here. General Antilles, this is Commander Adama, of the Colonial Fleet Battlestar_ Galactica._ I am transmitting a coded frequency to your vessel. Please switch to it. **

Antilles' voice again, **Confirmed Commander. Switching now.**

**General Antilles, you have entered a war zone between the Cylon, a race of machines, and the humans of the Colonial Fleet. My pilots will be escorting your craft to ensure you make no hostile moves, or come to any danger. Please do not deviate from your present course. We have much to discuss. Specifically, the word '_human_,' and your eleven thousand member worlds.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Much credit for this chapter goes to MrBean of who provided me with some great technical details, and some interesting ideas for character interaction. At this point, the challenge is integrating the dark and dramatic aspects of BSG with the (slightly lighter) X-Wing books. Both sets of characters will undergo significant changes in the days to come.

**Music: **If you like to listen to music while you read, (as I sometimes do,) I would recommend the tracks "Pegasus" and "Lords of Kobol" from Battlestar Galactica's Season 2 Soundtrack, played sequentially.

If you don't have the soundtrack, (which I highly recommend, as Bear McCreary is an excellent composer, "Pegasus" can be found here:

.com/watch?v=JculidrJIbI&feature=related

and Lords of Kobol here:

.com/watch?v=eON5O5MRz5M

**Disclaimer:** As always, Mr. Lucas and Mr. Moore own their respective properties. Mr. McCreary owns the music.

Please enjoy:

**Chapter Three: Prelude to Diplomacy**

"_**Presumably an escort," Wedge said. "Stay loose, Red Flight. Diplomacy first."**_

_**Leader, Three. Diplomacy means saying something soothing as you squeeze the trigger, right?"**_

"_**Quiet, Three."**_

**- ****Starfighters of Adumar****, **

**By Aaron Allston**

SHUTTLE PHANAN'S INTELLECT

COCKPIT

Wedge listened to Adama's voice, noticing the strange accent in Basic, and hearing the calm, steady tones. In his gut, he knew the man was a seasoned combat leader. That was a good thing. Seasoned combat leaders didn't usually shoot first, and the fact that they spoke a dialect of Basic, as well as referring to themselves as 'The Colonies' with a protocol for a First Contact Situation gave the indication that they may be a lost human colony from the bygone Republic days.

A brief message from Adama requested that they hold position while he talked to the President. The four pilots, (Hobbie having returned to consciousness,) Iella, and Winter crowded the cockpit to discuss options and get a better look at the three fighters that had formed up on them. As they got closer, Wedge noticed something-

_They looked like-_"X-Wings," muttered Janson, "Emperor's fluffy pink bathrobe-they look like X-Wings."

"Yeah." Hobbie drawled, rubbing his injured head, "If you hacked off the nosecone, s-foils and an engine, and added a couple of smaller wings and a stabilizer, they _would_ kinda look like X-Wings."

"There's the paint job too," said Iella, "White and red stripes-classic Rouge Squadron."

Wedge keyed his comm, "Starbuck, what do you call those ships of yours? I'm curious, because we've got something similar."

"I don't know what those are," said Janson, "but I want one…"

Tycho chuckled. "It doesn't matter what they're called, I think Incom's got a major patent infringement suit on its hands if they find out about these."

The response came almost immediately, **They're called the Viper, General. I am not currently at liberty to divulge additional technical data because-**

"You don't trust us." He said, evenly.

**Yes, Sir. You'll have to persuade Commander Adama and President Roslin that your intentions are benign.** A teasing note entered her voice, **Are you a fighter pilot, Sir? You pulled some nice maneuvers, and sound a bit young to be flying a desk.**

Wedge snorted, amused, "Finally someone who agrees with me. Yeah, you're talking to a snub jockey. There's four of us and a couple of analysts on what was supposed to be a vacation."

**Some vacation. **

"You said it. Is your President here yet? I don't know how long my systems will hold out."

**I'll check-just a minute, General. In the meantime, the Commander has cleared you to approach the Port Flight Pod of _Galactica_-The largest ship in the fleet.**

"Acknowledged, Starbuck, See you on the deck

Wedge looked at the other occupants of the Shuttle, and throttled up slowly, engines juddering in protest.

"Alright people, I've got no choice, We've gotta put this thing down before we lose engines altogether-opinions?"

"They don't like droids, they're twitchy and very good at shooting things they don't like?" suggested Hobbie, as the _Intellect _moved through the fleet, towards the indicated vessel.

Wedge nodded, "All right, Gate stays on board, then, and we make no sudden moves. Tycho, passive scan. What kind of armament are we looking at?"

As Tycho bent to work, Wedge took a glance at the Battlestar, By looks alone, it was impressive, a kilometer long, divided into three distinct sections, a central core with engines, resembling a misshapen Dreadnaught, and two outriggers, which he assumed were the Flight Pods. As he lined up on the port one, proceeding at a crawl so as to not antagonize the Commander and to give his people more time to prepare, he saw a battery of eight immense, double turreted guns on the ship's spine.

"Mass Drivers," muttered Tycho, giving a running commentary, "Thick armor, unknown composition, and I think the doors on the hangar bay are either missile tubes or a launch mechanism of some sort."

"The shape," said Iella, knowledgeable about many ship classes due to her service in Corellian Security Force, "The symmetrical layout-it looks nearly Corellian,"

Wedge didn't miss it either as he compared it to the other warships of similar size he was familiar with. It lacked the organic alien randomness of the Mon Calamari Cruisers and Battleships, and did not inspire the stomach-clenching terror of the daggerlike Imperial warships, a shape for rending and tearing.

Instead, _Galactica's _construction evoked feelings of a home he hadn't been inside of yet-The design had many similarities to the ships he grew up with, yet its differences, blunt bow, heavy armor, and slight curves suggested a reassuring solidity, and the heavy guns gave it more punch than just a simple Carrier or Missile Ship. It was a juggernaut built to protect and defend, to strike and stand, while taking one hell of a pounding in the process.

Wedge had just decided he liked it, when Winter dragged him back to reality with a voice so soft it was barely heard-

"It's worse than that."

"Hey!" exclaimed Janson, "That's _my_ forecast of impending doom!"

"Pipe down Wes, you can come up with another one if we survive this." He gestured to the white-haired spy, "You were saying, Winter?"

She pointed out the window,

"The ships, Wedge, look at the ships. Widely varying size and shape, few to no weapons mounts, and makeshift repairs on some-This is no fleet group, these are refugees. I'd wager that aside from the _Galactica_, there aren't any purpose-built warships in the fleet. Those droids, the 'Cylons' they're fighting, I think they lost to them-badly."

Wedge nodded.

"Here's the plan. We board. We do _not_ antagonize them. We offer an alliance and complete honesty if they can get us back to the Republic. Dress Uniforms. Change quickly."

Wedge ignored the groans of Hobbie and Janson, suppressed his own, and pressed on.

"We had them for the _Vanda_, and we're going to use them to make an impression as Soldiers on the Colonials-I think they'll need them."

He stared at the two women, who were in upscale dresses, and frantically thought about how to survive the next few seconds without a smack to the head. Figuring that they wouldn't do it while he was flying the ship, he went ahead.

"Iella, Winter, you ladies already look lovely, check the survival kit, get me an inventory, then stow it. It's a Wraith special, so there should be plenty of weapons and other exciting things that go 'boom.' Draw holdouts, and hide them. We need to lay out all our cards on the table, but in case something goes wrong, you're our skifters in the deck. Janson, draw blasters and vibroblades, hand 'em out-Rogues, arm yourselves and make it obvious."

His voice shifted to a lower register, "Surrender your weapons if, and only if I tell you to. They are going to treat us as equals, not potential hostages, and I'm going to make that very clear to them."

The comm. system crackled as the primitive wireless broadcast was transmitted to the shuttle.

**_Phanan's Intellect, Phannan's Intellect,_ this is Captain Kelly, Landing Signals Officer of G_alactica_, I am directing you to approach with constant velocity, your designated landing area is marked with blue checkers. A soft seal airlock hose will be extended after touchdown. Please acknowledge.**

"Antilles here," Wedge replied, "Instructions received and acknowledged. Request a private channel with Commander Adama."

**This is Galactica Actual,** said the gravelly voice, **Proceed.**

"Commander, allow me to be blunt. My men and I are uniformed military officers, We will be boarding your ship as an envoy of military officers of an independent government, with our sidearms, We will leave the ship the same way. While we very much hope to make a peaceful contact, I must warn you, any attempt to take us prisoner or coerce us in any way will be interpreted as an act of war, and be treated accordingly. My people will make no aggressive moves. Is this acceptable to you?"

Wedge sat back to await the reply. He was not kept waiting long.

**It is acceptable under our current Rules Of Engagement. Be advised that armed Marines will be-escorting you for the protection of my crew and the President.**

Wedge nodded, aware of the necessity, "Understood Commander, I look forward to meeting you in person."

**Likewise, General, likewise.**

He heard someone clearing their throat, and glanced behind him. It was Tycho, clad in the loathed white v-neck jacket and black bodystocking of the New Republic Dress Uniform. The left hem of the jacket was red, holding his rank insignia, and displaying numerous awards and battle tabs, just like the one in his luggage. Wedge made a go-ahead gesture to Tycho who then slipped into the co-pilot's seat and took up the controls.

_By the numbers, _thought Wedge.

"Switching over, do you have the stick?"

"I have the stick. Taking us in, blue checkers." Tycho's lips quirked into a smile, "Best dress to impress, Boss."

"And Wes said you couldn't rhyme." Wedge groaned, "See you in five." He unsnapped form the seat, stretched, and headed into the main cabin to the refresher alcove, passed Winter on her way to the cockpit. As he saw Iella and going through the luggage, his heart skipped a beat- In the short time since the plan was decided, she had done her hair onto an elegant but serviceable bun, with a few strands left free to frame her face. If possible, she looked more beautiful than ever, and nothing like a trained Intelligence operative. As he moved toward her, Iella gave Wedge a wink, and tossed a small duffel at him. Unlike the pillow earlier in the day, and what felt like years ago-

He caught it, opened it, and confirmed the contents: Dress Uniform, datapad, comlink, belt and holster with a 'Solo Special' DL-44 and power packs, Wedge then sealed and slung it over his shoulder, looking again at his wife.

"You look great, are you all set?" he asked.

She tossed him a mocking salute. "Yes sir, General Antilles, Sir!"

Wedge grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her closer.

"Hey, no salutes until they need to know what you do for a living." She raised an eyebrow, and he continued, "Besides, you're not in my chain of command anyway. Got the blaster? I didn't see it."

Iella took a quick glance around the cabin area, and made sure they were alone. Her brown eyes took on a seductive gaze, and her voice dropped an octave.

"Wanna?" She asked, reaching for the hem of her dress.

"Force yes," he replied enthusiastically-until he took a glance at his chrono. "But later," he said, as they kissed passionately, "Later."

He entered the 'fresher, and four minutes, several splashes of cold water, and a change of clothes later, emerged into the cabin in time for landing, and a spectacle.

With Tycho and Winter in the cockpit landing the ship, the occupants of the cabin were limited to Wedge, an uncomfortable-looking Hobbie in his Dress Uniform slouched against the bulkhead, and Iella, looking lovely in a simple blue dress with flared sleeves, while currently attempting to attack the third occupant of the cabin- Major Wes Janson standing at an absurdly preening position of attention while trying to fend off Iella, wearing his Dress Uniform-with a few additions.

As Wedge stepped closer, he took it all in. white naval officer's hat with a gleaming black brim? Check. Holo-Vid star eyeshades? Check. Absurdly tiny and pointed mustachios obtained from one of Face's little disguise kits? Check. Hand-tooled blaster belt with massive, Shreen-Pearl handled blaster? Check. All of it, down to the massive, unlit cigarillo clamped firmly between his teeth lent him the air of a self-satisfied prima-donna commander right out of a war-drama holo.

"Hey," said Wes a dung-eating grin on his face, while somehow managing to keep the cigarillo in his mouth, "One of us has to look good."

As Wedge attempted to suppress his laughter, and Janson stared at him expectantly waiting for him to fail, Iella took the opportunity to rip off his offending facial adornments and 'shades in one fell swoop. As Wes yelped in pain, and backed up, Wedge lost his control, and Hobbie stole the hat, beginning a spirited game of "Keep Away."

Wedge shook his head. "Nine year-olds," He commented ruefully, "I'm going on a diplomatic mission with nine year-olds."

"Yet you still want kids someday," Iella, a smile on her face, triumphantly brandishing Janson's shades and mustache, "You must have the patience of a Jedi."

"Not as much as Luke, actually. Poor guy has to sign autographs everywhere he goes, even on a dinner date."

"No." said Iella.

"Yes," replied Wes, looking morose and rubbing the raw skin where the mustache had been, "It got so bad he had to get Face to disguise him if we wanted to hit a Cantina or tapcaf together. What with all the senators wanting a piece of him, the poor soul only has us to keep him honest."

During the performance, the shuttle set down to a smooth landing, Wes abandoned his battle with the cigarillo, placing it in his pocket, and Iella raised an eyebrow.

"By 'Keeping him honest,' you of course mean insulting and pranking him mercilessly?"

Wes grinned, "Something like that."

They heard the gentle 'thud' of a universal coupling settled over their airlock.

Wedge. "All right, I'll get Tycho and Winter, you assemble and prepare for introductions."

He and Iella headed forward to the cockpit, and opened the hatch, just in time to see Tycho and Winter step away from each other and the console they were both leaning into.

Wedge cleared his throat to get their attention,

"Did we miss anything?" Iella asked impishly.

"Nope," said Tycho, slightly red-faced, "we're checking the guidance leads. Controls went sticky just before landing."

"Riiiiiight." Wedge drawled, as Winter gave him an appraising stare, which on her was more intimidating than your average 'death glare,' "Guidance leads. Uh Huh, I'll remember that one. C'mon, it's showtime."

They left the cockpit, moved through the cabin, and stepped into the large airlock, initially designed to debark large numbers of troops. The sensors registered positive atmosphere mix and pressure, so Wedge opened the hatch, coming face to face with another, this one sealed with a manual valve, only accessible from the opposite side, and was consequently equipped with an intercom set into the door. Wedge hit what he hoped was the Transmit button.

"This is General Antilles and party. Do we have permission to come aboard?"

The Commander's voice came through the intercom,

**Adama here-permission granted.**

Various clanking resounded through the hatch, and as it finally swung wide, Wedge caught sight of several human soldiers with unfamiliar weapons clad in black uniforms and helmets. One was holding the hatch open, while seven others were keeping guard on the hallway's other occupants.

No one spoke for a few seconds as the two groups evaluated each other. Wedge took the time to examine the people before him

The first of these occupants was an attractive young woman with short blond hair, wearing a tank top drenched in sweat, a chain around her neck with what were probably ID markers, and some sort of flight suit tied off around her waist. Her face, which looked shaped for a devilish grin, was surprisingly somber. This was probably the Lieutenant Thrace he spoken with over the comm.

He glanced at three other men, clad in gray uniforms with a leather sash over the shoulder, obviously their version of a Dress Uniform. It didn't look much more comfortable than theirs.

One was tall, and with his height, suspicious glower, and fringe of white hair, bore more than a passing resemblance to Booster Terrik-the only thing missing was the fact that this man had two eyes to Booster's one.

The other two had some sort of family resemblance. The younger man was taller than his-his Father? Wedge guessed, and had a determined look in his blue eyes, yet his face was smooth and unlined, lending him the earnest look of a young man determined to make his mark on the universe.

The earnesty and determination of the younger man were nothing compared to the elder.

Steel-haired and stocky, his craggy features spoke of decades of experience and leadership-the man exuded a quiet strength and competence that Wedge could not hope to imitate.

This, concluded Wedge after a second's observation, was Adama. He stepped forward and saluted.

"Commander Adama."

"General Antilles."-A statement, not a question-The older man took a similar pace forward, returned the salute and, as Wedge dropped his own, looked him in the eyes, seeming to measure him in an instant, with the look one warrior, one commander gave another.

Adama walked up to Wedge, and shook his hand.

"Welcome to _Galactica_, General." The soldiers seemed to relax a bit, and Adama released his hand, stepping closer, speaking more quietly.

"Forgive me," He rasped. "Kara said you would be young, but I didn't know how young. Doesn't matter though-you've obviously seen your share of action."

Wedge gave a wry grin. "You as well, Commander, unless I miss my guess. But we can share war stories later. Let's make the introductions, you and I, and find somewhere to sit and compare notes."

Adama nodded. "My thoughts exactly."


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors Note: **I have no beta and am in a busy section in the school year. Please pardon any lapses in grammar, spelling or flow.

**Chapter 4: Getting to Know You**

**"**_**Your ability to talk people into wanting to kill you borders on some kind of Jedi thing, you know that?**_**"**

**- Derek Klivian on Wes Janson**

**Star Wars Sourcebook**

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA

PORT LANDING BAY

AIRLOCK 2

After confirming that the area was secure, Commander Adama nodded to a soldier in black, who spoke into an intercom in a low voice and opened the room's other hatch.

Four people stepped through, three men and a woman. The two who entered first were clearly trained bodyguards stuffed into identical black suits, the third was an awkward young man with messy brown hair, definitely too young to be a president, and probably an aide.

That left the woman.

Wedge was honestly surprised as the President entered the room. The most powerful person in the fleet looked like a schoolteacher.

_She doesn't have any of the confidence of Leia, or even the unerring calm of Mon Mothma. I wonder how she governs effectively?_

He was not kept waiting long, as the Commander quickly made the introductions, using, to his chagrin, formal diplomatic phrasing.

"Madam President, I present General Wedge Antilles, of the New Republic Starfighter Command, and his party. General Antilles, President of the Colonies Laura Roslin."

Wedge, Iella and their friends inclined their heads and gave a brief bow, a New Republic gesture of respect towards a state official

"General." The President extended a delicate hand.

"Madam President."

Wedge shoved away the similarity to Ysanne Isard's preferred form of address and shook hands, looking her in the eye to gain a better measure of the woman.

While she lacked the poise and ease of many career politicians, a "good thing" to Wedge's mind, her warm brown eyes showed a hint of buried tragedy and enough pure determination to burn through the Durasteel plating on a Star Destroyer.

_She's another Bel Iblis- the eyes tell it all. This is definitely a leader who can make the tough calls to keep her people safe. _

Now it was up to him to introduce his people.

_And hopefully manage to avoid another interstellar incident when we present Janson._

**********************************

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA

PORT LANDING BAY

AIRLOCK 2

Bill Adama considered his guests evenly as the young General smiled at both of them. "As the guests on your ship, I think we should go first."

He nodded, and watched as Antilles motioned the rest of his people forward. That he had stepped first into an unknown situation, so his people wouldn't be at risk gave Bill an indication as to what kind of man he was.

The look in his eyes as they had shaken hands was another. Unlike some of the careerists in Fleet- before the Fleet had been wiped out-this was an experienced military professional, a man who had seen his fair share of the action in even in his early thirties.

He had earned his rank. Though the General's hair had not yet begun to gray, experience was evident in the small, premature lines on his face, the weariness in his eyes, and in every breath he took.

Adama knew that look. He knew it because he'd seen it in the mirror every day since the attacks. It was a look of a man who wanted so desperately to pack it in, but a feeling of duty, coupled with his own demons would drive him forward unflinchingly. Then Antilles' expression softened as he gestured towards a beautiful woman in a flattering blue dress, who came up beside him and took his hand.

"My wife Iella." he said simply.

Bill heard Saul's sharp intake of breath, and knew the reason. She had dark blond hair and a similar name.

The similarities to the Colonel's estranged wife ended there. Where Ellen Tigh had been a fading beauty far younger than Saul with an angular face and cold, calculating eyes, Antilles' wife Iella had a more rounded face and was of an age with him. Her gaze was guarded but warm, leading Bill to suspect she was not at ease in a room with so many armed people that they had never met. As they shook hands, he felt a strong grip with light calluses.

This suggested…something he couldn't quite put his finger on yet…

"My Second-in-Command, Colonel Tycho Celchu…

"Commander. Madam President." A lean man with aristocratic features and blond hair just starting to gray stepped forward and gave a perfect salute. He would have appeared arrogant but for the distant pain in his eyes, and a posture that showed hard-won humility.

A woman with long white hair and a regal bearing stepped forward and joined him, performing an elaborate curtsey.

She spoke in pleasing resonant tones, "Winter, Diplomatic Aide to Chief of State Organa Solo. I'll be your Civilian Liason."

She and Col. Celchu were clearly an item and had been for some time now if Adama was any judge of body language.

He was. He had to be to order thousands of men and women into battle on a daily basis.

Adama also observed that neither of the women was visibly armed, and wondered if Republic society was more stratified than that of the Colonies, which might preclude women from serving in the Armed Forces, or that some women served while the two he had met did not.

Bill Adama _knew_ there was more to them than met the eye and was pondering that when the next member of Antilles' party stepped forward.

"Major Derek Klivian." Announced the General as a dark-haired man with pale skin, a mournful expression, and a small bandage on his forehead stepped forward and saluted, opening his mouth to speak- until Antilles cut in again…

"Everyone calls him Hobbie. It's a long story."

As Klivian closed his mouth, Adama saw his face shift into an expression of uneasy relief-Evidently he was a man of few words.

"Last, and certainly least," said the General, with a wry smile and a familiar tone of resignation in his voice,

"I present Major Wes Janson."

The fourth man stepped forward and saluted, the positively evil grin twisting his youthful features informing Adama why Antilles had sounded so resigned. He had used that tone of voice introducing Kara at a variety of Court-Martials and Disciplinary Hearings too numerous to mention.

"Oh Gods, no." mumbled Tigh from behind him, "Not another one. One lunatic on this ship is enough."

Somehow Janson's positively evil grin got even more evil, and Adama saw Antilles' features start to shift to something resembling Klivian's default expression.

"Lunatic?" said Janson, "I resemble that remark! Hey, did you know we once built a ship called the _Lunatic _in a couple of hours? We even captured a Corvette with..."

"Major Janson!" barked the General Antilles, a nervous grin tugging at his face. Clearly, he hoped his man's actions hadn't damaged the promising introduction.

"ATTEN-Shun!"

He needn't have worried. As the irrepressible officer snapped to attention, Bill took a quick glance around the room, he saw Iella and Winter glaring, that Kara was smiling for the first time in days, and Lee was coughing into his hand in an effort to hide his laughter.

He could have sworn he saw some of the Marines' mouths twitch, and maybe a miniscule smile from Saul, but the unladylike snort from beside him let him see President Laura Roslin lose her composure and start chuckling.

They hadn't had much to laugh about lately.

Bill needed a couple of seconds himself, and he made sure to wink at Antilles as he introduced his own crew.

"My Executive Officer, Colonel Saul Tigh."

The balding X.O. stepped forward, saluted, and shook Antilles' hand.

"Captain Lee Adama, Commander of the Air Group." Lee saluted, and he shook hands with the General, who gave a noncommittal 'huh' when he heard his last name.

"Is it customary for children and parents to serve in the same chain of command?" asked Antilles, a faint note of disapproval in his voice.

"No sir." Lee answered, "My –ah- posting occurred under special circumstances."

"The rest of our fleet," Bill said heavily, deciding to come clean about their martial capabilities-or lack thereof- "Was destroyed in a surprise attack by the Cylons. Captain Adama had been temporarily posted to _Galactica_ to participate in her decommissioning ceremony."

"Decommissioning Ceremony?" Antilles looked confused.

"Yes. On the eve of the Attacks, the _Galactica_ was scheduled to be decommissioned and turned into a museum."

"I see," Said the General, "I assume your civilians are under occupation, and your ships were the only ones to escape?"

"You assume incorrectly, General." Roslin said in a soft, pained voice,

"They refused to accept the unconditional surrender of our government and used nuclear weapons on our worlds from orbit. We had twelve planets, numerous orbital stations, and over twenty billion people. Now we-"

She paused, a catch in her voice, and Bill noticed the expressions on the faces of the humans from the Republic. They could have been set in stone, and Colonel Celchu in particular looked like he was recalling a past catastrophe of his own.

Adama would bet his last cubit that they had seen atrocity of this sort before. Probably on a larger scale, given the size of their civilization, the sheer magnitude of which promised to be mind-bending.

"Now," the President continued, "We have less than fifty thousand, and we are running for our lives. You have met us at desperate time, General."

As if she had tempted fate, an alarm began to blare throughout the ship, and the phone on the wall rang. Adama grabbed it.

"Airlock two, Galactica Actual speaking. Give me a sitrep."

**Sir,** said Dualla, **Another forty Raiders just jumped in, as well as five larger craft. Size and thrust profiles are similar to Raptors. They are twelve minutes out.**

"Very well. Set condition one throughout the ship and order the Fleet to jump to the standby coordinates. Instruct the Gun Captains to open fire at maximum range. Try and break up their formation and give us more time to jump. I'll be in the CIC directly."

He turned to the newcomers. "Lieutenant Thrace-" Kara saluted, "please accompany these people to Briefing Room Three. We'll get this sorted out on the other side. Please excuse me General, Madam President-"

Adama acknowledged each with a brief nod, rasped-

"I've got a battle to fight."

Then spun on his heel and strode off, Saul following him closely.

As he exited the room, picking up the pace for the trip to the CIC, Bill was able to hear Kara directing the newcomers somewhere safe, and out of the way using uncharacteristic politeness.

"General Antilles, ladies, gentlemen, this way please."

******

**Addressing some FAQ's from previous chapters:**

The _Phanan's Intellect_ is a Sentinel-Class Landing Craft, attached to Rogue Squadron, (As the Wraiths are now part of New Republic Intelligence)

Named, as with the Narra, in honor of a pilot lost in combat, this is my tribute to a favorite character from the Wraith Squadron books.

One of the reasons Starfighters of Adumar is my favorite EU book is that in addition to the humor, wonderful characters, and interesting setting, it features as its main characters normal people, not just angsty Jedi, Senators, or Princesses.

Also, the Wedge-Iella romance was a long time in development, and was addressed fairly realistically, as compared to other relationships in the EU (This is one of Allston's strengths.)

I enjoy reading stories about regular, non-force sensitive people who make a difference and in my opinion, those are precisely what the prequels lacked.

That's the reason Star Wars originally inspired me, and that's why I like

As for the Viper/X-wing comparison, John Dystraka, a former employee of Industrial Light and Magic also designed the Vipers and was subsequently sued by Lucas.

How could I not throw in that little tidbit? And it gave Hobbie the opportunity to use a line similar to the one from Band of Brothers.

Also, when one thinks about star wars, X-Wings come to mind. Not E-wings, and not Z-95's. This is how it is.

Age: Yes, Wedge is young for a general.

Certainly younger than_ Admiral_ "Kill more of my own people than the enemy" Cain.

Here's the difference. Wedge got up there on his own merits and ability, against his will, triumphing against horrible attrition by getting very, very, good, and being rather lucky.

Cain played the administration and career game.

(Ah well, she's still smarter than Dalaa-which ain't saying much.)

Why do I mention the Cain/Wedge comparison?

Take a wild guess.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Well, here it is, sorry about the wait; I haven't had much time to write lately, but am getting back into it, as I love these stories. Do please let me know if I slipped up anywhere-I am posting without a beta.

******

**Chapter Five: The Cost of Wearing the Uniform**

"_**The cost of wearing the uniform can be high, but --**_

Sometimes it's too high.

You know, when we fought the Cylons, we did it to save ourselves from extinction. But we never answered the question, why? Why are we as a people worth saving? We still commit murder because of greed, spite, and jealousy. And we still visit all of our sins upon our children. We refuse to accept the responsibility for anything that we've done."  


-**Commander William Adama, Battlestar Galactica Miniseries**

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA

PORT HANGAR

THIRTY MINUTES PRIOR

As soon as Kara had landed her plane, and gotten out of the cockpit, he could tell she hadn't wanted to come back. It was written all over her face, even as the knuckledraggers and pilots cheered the Indomitable Starbuck for coming back alive against impossible odds again.

She hadn't wanted to come back because he now knew she failed him before they had even met.

She had almost married his son.

She had gotten Zak killed, and hadn't had the decency to tell him about it.

She had finally told him, tearfully, and he had told her to leave the cabin while she still could.

She had almost died trying to save the nuggets.

She was family, and she was _forgiven_.

So, as she made her unsteady way down the stairs that had been wheeled up to her Viper's cockpit…

William Adama, the Old Man, Commander of "The Bucket" had hugged her, told her they'd talk later, and to get her ass to the second Port Landing Bay Airlock _now_, because she had somehow struck up a rapport with these people.

Kara gave a tentative smile and followed.

She met Lee on the way, and he gave her a pained smile. Neither of them said anything, or needed to. They knew each other too well.

Over the wireless, Antilles and his bunch sounded like happy-go-lucky flyboys, and Kara had managed to engage them with "Starbuck," the persona of a crazy yet professional ace pilot she wore perpetually in the cockpit, but infrequently on the ground. It wasn't her. It was who she had to be, but she was slipping-and beginning to resent anyone who could keep it together under such circumstances.

Antilles had talked a good game, and knew a few maneuvers, but he was probably some ladder-climbing careerist with friends in high places like so many in Fleet had been before the Attacks. Kara doubted he had seen much combat.

She was in error. That became evident the instant the crew of the _Phanan's Intellect_ stepped into the meeting room, and any preconceptions about the General's combat experience or lack thereof vanished as soon as she saw him take the first step forward to greet Adama.

As a woman who had been on constant alert for weeks, Kara Thrace knew tired when she saw it, and Antilles looked wary, but tired. The body was active and alert, but his sad brown eyes and the lines around them gave it away. They were all like that-even his wife assessed the room for possible threats just like Kara's mother had made her do every time she entered an unfamiliar place.

Kara felt a bit better about the newcomers-especially after Janson's introduction- if for no other reason that Col. Tigh would have yet another headache to deal with. Perhaps they could join forces…

…Then the alarm had sounded-The enemy had been sighted. The Old Man gave her instructions to get Antilles and company to a briefing room as there was no way she was getting to a Viper before they jumped.

After being proven wrong once without talking to the new arrivals face-to-face, Kara Thrace made a decision: She would hold her temper, her pithy comments, and her contempt, while keeping "Starbuck's" viciousness confined to her cockpit. These people didn't deserve her anger. They were tired like her, and had given her a chance at redemption. She _would not_ fail a second time.

"General Antilles, ladies, gentlemen, this way please."

Her ego and her anger temporarily in check, Lieutenant Kara Thrace led the group down the corridor.

*****************************

As Wedge moved down the hallway following Starbuck, he noticed the hum of _Galactica's_ engines change, rising to a higher pitch which would move the great ship into position to protect the fleet. He heard the sound of boots tromping to the time of the alert klaxon wailing through the halls, signaling the crew's rush to duty stations. It was the music of combat, a prelude to war, and a tune he had heard thousands of times before, over his years of service. As his pulse picked up in response, Wedge realized he had never quite grown accustomed to it, and he was glad of it.

_That song always meant that people were about to start dying._

He felt oddly at home-observing his companions Wedge began to realize that he was not alone. They were all looking around, Iella and Winter scanning the room for possible threats while his pilots looked around, searching for the correct corridor to a nonexistent hangar bay which held their nonexistent X-wings.

Then the higher pitch was overlaid by a rolling rumble, punctuated in turn with larger vibrations for what felt like hours, but was more probably minutes. A young woman's voice came through the halls announcing that the fleet had made it to safety, the fighters were recovered, and that they were jumping in thirty seconds.

As the woman reached twenty, Lt. Thrace turned around with an evil grin,

"If this is your first FTL jump aboard a Battlestar, you may want to sit down and grab a hold of something."

She stood in the hallway, hands riding her hips just above the tied-off flightsuit.

**Eleven…Ten…** Said the intercom

Wedge nodded a grateful thank you, and sat on one of the packing crates stacked in the passageway, Iella joining him soon after. Winter, Tycho, and Hobbie chose various crates and braced themselves, while Janson casually leaned up against a wall and winked at the Lieutenant.

**Six…Five…**

Thrace raised an eyebrow, "Good luck holding onto your breakfast…or whatever."

**Two…One. Jump. **

The last word was said without emotion, as if it had become routine to leave an area under enemy fire, running again and again.

Wedge didn't have much time to muse on that though, as the hall seemed to grow for a minute, walls distorting, and he felt odd, as if something was holding him in a massive fist. Nausea was building inside him, and as he shut his eyes, Wedge was suddenly glad he had Iella's hand, which acquired a viselike grip as the milliseconds wore on.

Next came an unearthly –_snap-_ and the fist stopped squeezing him. He opened his eyes to see the hall back to normal, the Lieutenant still standing in the hall, and Wes in the corner on his knees and doubled over and trying desperately to keep his last meal from redecorating the hallway.

"Get him on his feet," Thrace said, "It'll pass. Riding through a jump gets easier every time."

Wedge helped Janson up, and Iella patted him on the back. The man's normally healthy face ahd gone as pale as Hobbie's

As Wedge moved past him, he clapped him on the shoulder, and murmured some words of comfort. "Whatever you do, Wes, don't think about nerf and saileek stew, and the way it sits heavy in your stomach after you eat it…"

Wes went greener and offered a "-Mphlt," but managed to straighten up, his eyes promising Wedge humiliation at a later date.

************

The party made its way to the briefing room, which looked like many rooms that Wedge had plotted and launched strikes from over the years. They sat and were joined shortly by Col. Tigh, President Roslin, and both the Adamas.

Wedge caught a problem immediately as he observed Tigh with a surly expression on his face

"Is something the matter, Colonel Tigh?" he asked politely.

It's nothing, _General_." Muttered the X.O. in a tone a hair from snide,

"I just don't like the idea of the Old Man's command decisions being second-guessed by a man barely half his age, who's probably been flying a desk. Lee Adama is a fine officer…"

"Saul!" Barked the elder Adama, trying to rein him in, and Wedge took a second to evaluate their relationship. On the surface, they were close friends who went back a ways, similar to him and Tycho, only some years down the line.

_If they lived that long._

However, there was something more at work here. Tigh seemed to be defining himself solely as Adama's number two man, backing him to the hilt, and trying to make him look good but playing the bully to the rest of the crew. He had Booster's gift of intimidation without any of the man's patience or guile.

Wedge stood, his eyes hardening into a glare directed at the balding X.O.

"_Colonel_ Tigh, may I speak with you outside?"

"Anything you've got to say to me, you can say right here."

Wedge nodded,

"Very well, Colonel, rather than responding by questioning _your_ combat experience, expertise and professionalism which would evolve into a useless pissing match, I'll do you one better. I'll simply question your professionalism, show you _my_ service record-then you can judge me as you see fit, and we can move on."

Tigh had his feet as well, and tried using his superior height to loom over him, but Wedge was not so easily cowed. He channeled his inner Janson, and rolled his eyes.

"Like it or not, we've got to work together, and we need to deal with any preconceptions and unfounded animosity now, before they fester.

I had a legitimate question about the extent of nepotism in the Colonial Fleet. As time goes on, I'll have more perfectly legitimate questions about your traditions and codes of conduct, which I will be asking out of respect for you and your people. All I ask is that you treat my people with the same respect and forbearance I'll treat yours- Is that acceptable, _Colonel_ Tigh."

"Yes." The older man grumbled, and Wedge raised a speculative eyebrow.

_Let's play nice, children._

"Sir." He finished.

Wedge nodded, "Thank you Colonel."

They sat back down, and Wedge pulled a datapad from a compartment on his belt, linking it with a miniaturized holoprojecter.

He sat and cleared his throat,

"Some decades ago, a man named Cos Palpatine overthrew the millennia-old democratic government of the Old Republic, and instituted an Empire. Many people opposed him, and this resulted in a Civil War, It was characterized by oppression, genocide and terror tactics.

Entire species were enslaved or made extinct, cities were bombed into rubble, and they even developed a space station the size of a small moon capable of destroying entire planets, called the Death Star."

Wedge paused as the eyes of the Colonials expanded to dinner-dish size.

"My friends and I pledged to fight this evil with every breath we took. This is my service record." He said simply, gesturing to the holoprojector "It should give you an idea of what we've been up to."

He pressed a key, and the datapad began to play Wedge's full service record, in tri-dee;

**Wedge Antilles:**

**Joined the Alliance to Restore the Republic during Standard Year 33 as an independent freight hauler and signed on for Fighter Training later that year following an open call for pilots. **

**Subsequently flew various missions for Alliance forces. **

**(See attached declassified files)**

**Made Ace on his third mission in SY 34, and was cited three times for bravery. **

**During SY 35, he was assigned to Red Squadron during the strike on the Death Star, scored two confirmed kills in the battle. **

**Participated in the third trench run with Flight Officer Luke Skywalker and Lt. Biggs Darklighter. Following the destruction of the Death Star, formed Rogue Squadron with Luke Skywalker and flew numerous missions from Yavin IV.... **

The list droned on and Wedge felt himself flashing back to bases long abandoned and battles long over-Hoth, Endor, Borealis, Coruscant, Thyferra, Selaggis, Ciutric, reminding him of his list.

The one he kept next to his heart and one he added to far too often.

They were squadmates, friends, and subordinates lost along the way. Biggs, Porkins, Lujayne, Falynn, Grinder, Jesmin, there were so many names. Even the ship he had arrived on, the _Phanan's Intellect_, was named for a sarcastic cyborg doctor lost in the Zinsj campaign. _So many friends, _he suppressed an internal sigh and heard the recording end with his current name and rank:  
**  
General Wedge Antilles, Commissioned in New Republic Republic Starfighter Command, current Commander of the Republic Super Star Destroyer Lusankya and Leader of Rogue Squadron. **

**Total length of service in the Rebel Alliance and the New Republic Fleet: fourteen years, six months and twelve galactic standard days.**

Wedge cleared his throat, startling some of the people seated at the table.

Captain Adama and Lt. Thrace had been practically salivating over the images of the X-wings, while Tigh was sitting with his mouth opening and closing rapidly, like some sort of aquatic animal expiring on the seashore at high tide.

But the big two, Adama and Roslin just sat there, faces unreadable, and brows furrowed.

"Anyway," Wedge said,

"That's basically what we've been doing up until now. Believe it or not, this was actually my honeymoon. We had a problem with the hyperdrive while under attack by rogue Imperials or pirates"

He glanced at Iella,

"Um, sorry about that again, love."

His wife gave him a poke in the shoulder. "It's not your fault Wedge, besides, I prefer meeting new people to becoming one with the universe any day."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Is it possible that you could tell us about how you came to be out here? I'm sorry, I know it's painful to recount-"

President Roslin raised a delicate hand "But it is only fair…" she said, in a voice, which though soft, was full of pain, "Where would you like to begin?"

Iella nodded to Wedge, who asked the question that had been on all of their minds since they had gotten on board.

"Thank you, Madam President. Firstly, I'd like to know more about the Cylons- what exactly are they, and how long have you been in contact with them?"

"Oh, no longer than fifty years," She said quietly. Then she triggered the proverbial thermal detonator, with a voice growing softer by the moment, "We created them you see, to make life easier on the Colonies…"

*****************


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: Resolutions**

"Our ancestors created the Cylons to serve us" Said Roslin, as if she was lecturing students. "Historical records of the time are sketchy, but at some point just over forty years ago, they gained true sentience and began to resent their servitude. This led to a bloody and brutal uprising and culminated in a long and horrible war of annihilation."

Her voice ran down, and Commander Adama had to continue, though he sounded sounding just as tired, as if all of the misery was balanced on his shoulders alone, while Col. Tigh passed around briefing packets with pictures of intimidating droids.

"It was war to the knife, but when the fighting was at its fiercest, the Cylons negotiated an Armistice and left to find a world of their own. Humanity was content to let things stand as they were. The Cylons went their way to live as they chose and we went ours. We let them go and built a station, a neutral meeting ground in case they ever wanted contact with us again."

He exhaled, and removed his glasses for a moment,

"Just before this ship was to be decommissioned, the officer from Armistice Station was overdue to report in. We didn't think anything of it until shortly thereafter, when the Cylon ships began to fire on population centers on throughout the colonies. We lost fleet command at Picon first, then Tauron and Gemenon, along with a quarter of our fleet."

"What about the rest of your defenses?" asked Wedge. _It can't have been completely one-sided_

"What was left of the fleet regrouped around Admiral Nagala's _Atlantia_ for a counterstrike," Adama said.

"That was when we began getting error messages," drawled Tigh, "Scads of 'em- toasters would shut down life support, or engines, and flight control, just as our people engaged them. We lost a squadron of our newest birds, our best pilots…" he snapped his finger, "Like that, like the godsdammed toasters just threw a switch. Only reason _Galactica_ survived is because the Commander refused to allow any computer networks on the ship. And with those bastards from the Admiralty were forcing…"

_Forcing what? _Wedge mused, _Court Martial, Retirement? I'll have to find out later._

""Thank you, Saul." Adama cut him off, and continued, "Our armed forces had recently upgraded their computer systems to the Colonial Navigation Program, a piece of computer software designed by a brilliant scientist named Baltar." Adama said. "We believe the Cylons exploited a backdoor in the program and used it to gain control of all of a ship's functions."

"Baltar made it back to the fleet due to one of my pilots giving up his seat during the evacuation of Caprica, and has been working to stop future Cylon incursions…" he turned to Tigh, "Speaking of Baltar, where is he?"

"On his way. Latest from Dee says he was fra-uh _with_ Petty Officer Hall…"

"Well, I suppose there's no accounting for taste-Thank you Colonel."

"How'd they infiltrate in the first place?" Janson asked, "You'd think a tall, gleaming droi-er robot with an evil red eye would be easy to detect."

Wedge almost slammed his head on the table. He settled for "Commander Adama, please excuse Major Janson's tone-"

Roslin, Tigh, and Adama simply stared at Wes, and the Commander's gaze made even more intense by the steel-framed spectacles he wore. Janson broke the stare first. Then Adama spoke;

"Major, your question was legitimate, if the tone was poorly considered. In the forty years since we saw the Cylons, they had managed to engineer models that looked like us. People. Flesh, blood, everything. Some of them are probably sleeper agents in the fleet. The only reason you haven't been held under suspicion is that you people are _too_ strange. We lost a lot of good people in the attacks. Around twenty billion, to be exact."

As Janson swallowed and examined the tabletop, they heard it all; the sad tale of an entire human culture nearly destroyed once because of their own hubris and lack of foresight, and completely devastated a second time due to poor executive leadership and a misplaced belief that they were no longer in danger of repeating the past.

Wedge heard about the rally at Ragnar, the _Galactica's_ steadfast stand to protect the evacuation of the civilians as they jumped into uncharted space, of suicide bombings and fears of infiltration, and as he took it all in, his respect for the leadership of President Roslin and Commander Adama grew.

_It's like they're trying to fight the rebellion using a tenth of the resources we had. _

The technical description of the initial attacks held a macabre fascination for the veteran New Republic personnel; the yield of "primitive" weapons such as the nukes used by the Cylons would scarcely pose a threat to the shields of a strike cruiser, yet the renegade machines had managed to kill billions with them.

_Palpatine and Isard would be impressed by the Colons' brutality-I'm impressed by their resourcefulness and the careful planning that went into the attack. But where does that leave the survivors?_

As if in answer, Roslin began to speak again, giving him a strange, earnest look; "Our people are searching for a colony settled by a Thirteenth tribe. Earth, the ancestral home of humanity. General, with all of your worlds and peoples, have you ever heard of such a world?"

A lot seemed to hang on the answer, so as Wedge turned to Winter, the intelligence agent with a holographic memory and raised a questioning eyebrow, he hoped the answer would be something they liked.

"You're the expert on diplomacy, Winter, do you have anything on Earth?"

To conceal her talents, The intelligence agent pretended to consult her datapad, and after a tense minute, announced;

"As I am sure you are all aware, the most widely used definition in Basic, the predominant galactic language, for Earth is dirt, or more specifically, arable land, used to grow crops. I assume it means something similar in the Colonies as well?"

The New Republic personnel _and_ the Colonials all nodded, and Wedge motioned for her to continue, but before she could, there was a knock at the door.

"Doctor Baltar to see you sir," said the muffled voice of the sentry.

"Send him in," said Roslin, and the hatch opened to reveal a short, slight man in what appeared to be a state of perpetual disarray.

Given all of the scientists he had dealt with in his years in the military, Wedge was not shocked by the unprofessional appearance of the man, who appeared; unshaven with his hair mussed, tunic rumpled, and jacket collar twisted. Given the nature of what Wedge assumed he had been called away from, it was a minor miracle that his trousers were sealed.

As he was nervously introduced around the room, the only things that stood out about Gaius Baltar was the gleam of -_something-_ in his eyes as he examined the datapad and holoprojector, which was then paused on a flickering image of X-wings, and his relatively young age.

He was about Wedge's age. The only young scientist he had seen in such a role of responsibility had been…_Qwi_…though it appeared that Baltar hadn't designed any superweapons in his spare time, and in fact appeared to feel walk under a specter of immense guilt, probably because of the way his navigation program had been corrupted.

"I'm sorry," the scientist sputtered after the introductions had been completed, "It's all a bit much for me to take in at once, people from a galaxy-spanning civilization, alien species and all that-I'll try to wrap my head around it though- Please continue, Lady Winter."

Winter continued, as smoothly as if she had never been interrupted in the first place.

"This commonality of language suggests a similar point of origin. As does the fact that you speak a recognizable dialect of Basic. However, as to the 'human homeworld' you mention, all of our historical sources point to our capital world of Coruscant several hundred millennia ago."

Roslin looked crushed, but the white-haired woman pressed on. "It gets more interesting Madam President. The etymology of the word "Earth" is ancient in origin, and can be found in surviving sources dating as far back as the Alderaan expeditions, and even Old Corellia during the age of Colonization."

The silver-haired woman looked at Roslin and Adama.

"It is quite possible that your colonies originated from one of the early near-relativistic exploration efforts from one of the Ages of Exploration."

She turned to Wedge,

"General, many of the destinations of the sleeper ships initially dispatched from Coruscant have been lost to history. Commonality in starship design philosophy, language, and appearance suggest that the Colonials are offshoots of our own culture."

Most of the Colonials went pale, but for Doctor Baltar, whose eyebrows shot up in surprise as he considered the new information

"Genetic testing could prove it if we can find commonalities," suggested Baltar, "But the facilities on _Galactica_ are-no offence, Commander, the facilities are ill suited for that sort of experimentation, especially with that…"

He considered the Republic personnel for a moment and proceeded to be very vague indeed,

"That _other_ _project_ you had me working on."

Adama looked slightly amused at the scientist's attempt at obfuscation, but acknowledged the Doctor's complaint "We'll get you what we can." Turning to the President, "It would be good to know, Madam President."

She nodded, "I agree. I wonder if you could spare Doctor Cottle for a few hours…"

He considered for a moment.

"He's still busy with the injured from the Hangar Deck explosion. We'll discuss this later Doctor." He turned to Wedge, "Are you and your people all right with this?"

"We don't mind some basic medical tests," Wedge said. "As long as they are relatively non-invasive."

"You shouldn't have to worry about much beyond a few milliliters of blood." Said Baltar

"Excuse me," Roslin said, "I'm sure that medical tests are important, as answers about our heritage are at stake, but it looks like that will take some time. Now we're all tired, but there is some essential business we need to take care of before we can go any further."

She turned to Wedge, "General Antilles, is your ship in any state to fly or get a message back to your government?"

"Not to my knowledge, Madam President." He said "we had to nurse it all the way down to the landing pad. Tycho and Gate agree that the hyperdrive is out, and irreparable. So are long-range comms, and our sublight engines aren't looking good either."

"Please, General, call me Laura. That leaves you stranded here, correct?"

"Yes Madam President."

"Where is here, according to your maps?" asked Commander Adama.

Wedge let Tycho field that one; "Difficulty with a stellar navigation fix puts us somewhere deep inside the Unknown Regions-which are largely unmapped-with the closest Republic world being Adumar."

"How close?" Roslin asked.

"Not close." Tycho said. "I'd be able to get a better fix if you let Gate get a look at the stars from somewhere open, an airlock perhaps."

Colonel Tigh bristled, "That frakking toaster can-"

A look from Adama silenced him in mid-sentence and gave the Commander room to speak,

"That _robot_ can stay aboard your shuttle and powered down- like you assured me it is-until I can be persuaded that he is not a danger to this ship and my crew."

His gaze turned toward Tycho "Is that understood, Colonel Celchu?"

"Perfectly, sir." Said Tycho in a tone that gave no hint of emotion.

_Sithspit, the man's got presence, he stopped Tigh in his tracks with a look, and Tych is falling back on his Prefsbelt IV training. Even Hobbie's reacting to it. The man evokes professionalism-a useful trait to have. _

Then, the President stood and proved that Commander Adama wasn't the only Colonial with a commanding presence,

"_Enough_. We're all tired and we need to get this situation resolved. Let's cut through this." She turned to Wedge, "General, I'm assuming the shuttle is not equipped for you and your people to sleep in?"

"That is correct."

She shared a look with Adama and turned back to Wedge and his friends.

"General Antilles, under my authority as the duly appointed President of the Twelve Colonies, I would like to request asylum in Republic space and protection from the Cylons when we get there. In exchange we will provide you with accommodations and protection from the Cylons who are currently pursuing us."

"_All_ of us." Roslin said, looking at him pointedly.

"We can do that, Wedge said, "The Chief of State is an old friend of mine. I imagine the two of you would get along rather well."

"Madam President," said Adama, "I'm fine with giving up some quarters for our guests-gods know we're under-officered as it is, so accommodations won't be a problem. To that end, General," continued Adama, "Since you're stuck here, I'd like extend an invitation to you and your people to join the Galactica's crew as fellow soldiers and help us protect the civilians in the fleet-"

"Commander Adama!" Roslin interrupted, "I strongly object to you inviting our new guests-the only people who can vouch for us with their government, to place themselves into danger."

For the first time, Adama looked exhausted.

"Madam President, General Antilles, I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate. But I just lost thirteen pilots. Even with the nuggets, I barely have enough to maintain the CAP. General Antilles and his friends are pilots, and judging by their previous experiences and the principles they exemplify, I'd suspect that they'd be willing to help. Is that so, General?"

Wedge pulled at his chin, and spoke, despising himself as he did so. This was so much worse than the Adumar fiasco; civilians were in direct danger from the get-go.

"Here's where it gets tricky Commander, Mada-Er. Laura. We're supposed to be on leave. That means we are not subject to a chain of command, nor am I in charge of the _Lusankya_ Fleet Group, or a the head diplomatic mission. However…" Wedge trailed off,

Roslin nodded, "Continue."

"as I said before, since I am a Republic Officer on detached service, I can present your request for asylum within our territory to the Senate when we arrive in Republic space, but I'm not sure how I feel about ordering my people into a new war within hours of our arrival in the battlezone. According to our own rules and regulations I cannot order my people to endanger themselves."

"Understood, General" Adama said. His face gave nothing away,

_He'll make one hell of a Sabacc player… _Wedge thought

"Sleep on it and inform me of your decision in the morning. For now, I'll have Captain Adama and Lt. Thrace show you to your quarters."

Wedge felt terribly guilty as he said goodnight and left the meeting room.

_If I don't help these people to the best of my ability, I'll not sleep tonight. Or any night for a long while. But that's a fair bargain for making sure Iella and the rest are safe._

As they walked, lost in thought, a flickering light down one of the hallways caught his eye. Being a pilot and a military officer taught him to recognize things out of the ordinary, and open flames on a spaceship were definitely out of the ordinary.

"What is that? Is something on fire?" he asked, and looked about for an extinguisher as he saw both Lt. Thrace and the younger Adama pale.

"No, it's just the candles from the memorial." Lee said.

"A memorial for your ship?" Winter asked. "May we see it?"

The Colonial officers nodded and led them down the hallway.

When he saw it, Wedge was dumbfounded.

"It started as a way for our crew to look for their families." Lee said, "We started getting pictures from other ships a couple of weeks in. After we figured out who was still breathing, people started them putting up as a reminder."

"I'm guessing you have something similar?" Thrace asked, a hint of challenge in her voice.

"Yes." He replied, as Iella took his hand. "Yes we do."

That was all he could say as he gazed at the shrine.

Unlike all those painfully thought-out memorials he had seen on too many worlds, the hallway was not artistically inspired and carefully designed.

It had been built rapidly and haphazardly, looking far less serene and peaceful than the Cemetery of Corellian Exiles on Coruscant where the dead were compressed into diamonds and imbedded in the ceiling in the shape of star constellations, and it lacked the terrible scale of the Alderaanian Graveyard, where chunks of the dead planet had collated into a spiral, but the Memorial Hallway on the Battlestar _Galactica_ was no less powerful for it.

Wedge watched his wife's brown eyes fill with sorrow as they took in a picture of a family with young children.

"So many." She muttered.

Wedge was thinking the same thing. The hallway was a gaping wound, terrible with sundered love and unshed tears. It was not just a shrine to the dead; it was a cry for vengeance against the Cylons and their victims.

Squeezing Iella's hand for reassurance, then releasing it, Wedge took a deep breath,

"Rogues!" The General barked, "Atten-HUT!"

The pilots formed a line, and four pairs of boots slammed together with precision gained from hundreds of prior repetitions.

"Left-FACE!"

They pivoted to face the wall, still at attention, and Wedge let the candles and keepsakes, letters and poems, names and faces burn their way into his brain.

"Hand-SALUTE." He suited action to words, and took a peripheral glance. The other soldiers- His wife and friends, and the crewmen scattered throughout the hall, Thrace included were all saluting.

"Ready-TO" Hands snapped back to waists.

"At ease." Their postures relaxed, but the stony look on their faces remained.

Then Janson stepped forward. Surprisingly, he said nothing, and walked up to one of the altars, unhooked the medal for the Kalidor Crescent, that rarely-given award Wedge knew meant the most to him from his dress jacket, and placed it on the altar. Then, his expression unchanged, Wes returned to the group.

Wedge had viewed this shrine to the dead, and he now felt obligated to not only protect the memory of those dead, but most especially to guard the very few people of this shattered society who had survived thus far.

And just like that, he was responsible again. _So much for that extended leave._

The group continued down the hallway a few paces and stopped when they were out of sight of the memorial, and off of that hallowed ground.

Wedge motioned for them to gather around him and noticed Thrace watching intently as he considered the situation, trying not to picture the thousands of ways his people, _his wife_ could all be killed or injured when he said what had to be said, and asked them to put their lives on the line for a cause which, up until a few short hours ago, they hadn't even known existed.

"I can't ask any of you to do this…" Wedge began to say.

"And you never had to" replied Tycho, continuing,

"I swore an oath to protect the citizens of the Republic. We all did. To me that means we guard any innocents in danger-Too, the fact that they originated on Coruscant means that they can be defined as Republic citizens. Clearly, the request for asylum gives us casus belli to help them."

"Besides," said Wes, "Chain of command or no, you'd have a hard time _stopping_ us from getting between murderous droids and defenseless civilians. We'd just have to resign again and destroy these Cylons with a clever combination of devastatingly superior intellect, psychologically scarring insults, and dare I say, our Roguish charm?"

As they groaned, Kara broke in, "Wait, What do you mean _resign again_?"

Iella smiled, "Wedge resigned because the New Republic refused to liberate a planet that produced a medicine needed desperately by millions from a brutal dictator who engineered a disease and then cornered the market on the medicine to fight it with. She had four powerful battleships. Even though the rest of the squadron resigned as well, we only had one X-wing and a freighter at the start of the campaign."

"Don't forget the money Isard used to implicate Tycho as a double agent," Winter said, with a significant glance to Iella, "That trial was how he became so knowledgeable about Republic Law."

"Legality is nice, said Hobbie, "Legality means we can log all of our flight hours, and when we get back, present Fleet Command a bill for lots of combat pay."

Both Thrace and the younger Adama were looking lost again.

"You actually expect to survive this to collect a paycheck?" asked Lee.

"Maybe not," Hobbie acknowledged, "But if I die, then my hefty insurance policy _and _the accrued combat pay go to my family and the Raltiiran Orphans' Fund."

"I see." His fatalism did not faze the Captain or Lieutenant Thrace, who was still looking at them quizzically, "Uh. If you don't mind me asking, who or what is Isard?" she asked.

This time, the Colonials did not miss the series of looks that passed between the pilots and the two women.

"Ysanne Isard," Wedge said carefully, "Was the head of Imperial Intelligence, and later the Empire itself, as well as being an enthusiastic and sadistic torturer. She is now _dead_."

He noticed that while Iella's face remained impassive, her eyes flashed briefly with a predatory expression. Her first husband, Diric had been one of Isard's sleeper agents, and she had been forced to shoot him in self defense after he activated.

With the help of Booster and Mirax Terrik, Iella had hunted down Isard and killed her, but the anger and sadness at what had happened remained.

After what Wedge had done to the crew of the _Buzzer_ after they killed his parents, he understood how she felt.

_It's a sad state of affairs when we have that much in common._

"How that happened is a story for another time. As of right now, we just finished discussing the possibility of joining your fleet."

He glanced around the group, and saw each one nod.

It was enough. Through a decade and a half of war, they had seen enough, lost enough, and they weren't willing to let anyone else die if they could stop it.

"Captain Adama," said Wedge, in a tone that brooked no argument; "please inform Commander Adama and President Roslin that we're in. To the last shot fired from the last surviving fighter, or arrival in Republic space. Hopefully the latter."

Lieutenant Thrace, if you could show us to our quarters, We'll discuss exactly how we can do that after we've gotten some rack time and can speak coherently."

"Yessir."

She saluted, and showed them to a nearly deserted section of the ship where the bulkheads gave way to several hatchways.

"These are the additional officer quarters- they're probably a bit dusty…" Thrace showed them how to secure the hatchways and left, thanking them before she did so.

There were three cabins. Hobbie and Wes took one, Tycho and Winter the other, while Wedge and Iella retired to the cabin that had been set aside for their use, and sat on the lumpy, musty-smelling pallet.

At this point no words were needed Wedge and Iella held each other for the first time in what felt like days. Then they lay down, and more exhausted than he had been in some time, Wedge Antilles was able to drift off to sleep with a clear conscience.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: Adjustments **

"_**People of the Fleet, I have astounding news to report. No doubt you have all been wondering about the mysterious ship that appeared today. I am overjoyed to inform you that we have made contact with our lost brothers and sisters.**_

_**The Thirteenth Tribe has spread far and wide across the Galaxy, and their descendants have made many incredible developments in society, culture and spaceflight.**_

_**We encountered their their vessel after it had been hurled across space, and after helping to avert a Cylon attack, they came aboard Galactica to extend to us a hand in friendship, so if you chance to meet them, please welcome them as such.**_

_**These people have offered to guide us to their home and represent us to their government, a vast coalition of worlds known as the "New Republic," which holds within its borders many habitable worlds, one of which we can settle on and re-establish our culture, our traditions, and our way of life.**_

_**More information will be forthcoming as we communicate further with our new friends, but they have told us that we still have a long way to go until we reach their territory.**_

_**So, until that day, we must carry on as we have before, facing each new challenge with determination in our hearts, but know that with the dawning of this new day, we have been given new hope.**_

_**We must embark on this journey secure in the knowledge that we have new friends traveling beside us and a home that will welcome us to it.**_

_**So say we all."**_

__**Official Statement issued by President Laura Roslin regarding the First Contact with the New Republic**

** Recorded and preserved for posterity in the Fleet Archives**

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA

COMMANDER ADAMA'S QUARTERS

THE NEXT DAY

Cheering from every ship in the fleet echoed out of the intercom on the wall.

"Hard to believe they're still at it after two hours." Tigh grumbled

"It's the best news they've had in weeks." Adama replied. "Shows them we were on the right track all along."

"Even if we weren't?" asked Tigh. He seemed unsurprised.

"Even if we weren't." Adama confirmed. Then he gave a small grin, "Besides, I've seen you tie one on longer."

"They're amateurs," Tigh snorted, aiming his finger at the Commander like a pistol. "And you're a

sneaky sonofabitch Bill. I think you owe me at least a glass of the good stuff for the whole "I know where Earth is thing."

"At least one." The 'Sneaky Sonofabitch' had already poured two tumblers of 20 year old Ambrosia. "Mr Gaeta has watch for the night."

He raised his glass, "To Earth."

Tigh raised his, "To Earth, whadda they call it- Coruscant- or whatever piece of rock and dirt we bet our futures on."

They clinked glasses, and drank.

"Eloquent Saul."

"Thanks Bill." Tigh's eyes hardened. "Watch these people, Antilles especially. He's an idealist, and a charismatic one. They're dangerous."

"He's not after my command."

"Yet." the balding exec muttered darkly

"I'm well aware of the potential for danger." Adama said, giving his friend a pointed look before continuing.

"I'm also aware of the danger posed if me or someone under my command alienates them. I trust you to give them the benefit of the doubt just like I trust you to walk out of your cabin each day as a good officer, and my friend."

"Sure." Tigh looked resigned. "This turns to shit, don't say I didn't warn ya."

Adama quirked an eyebrow, "If you have a better idea..."

Tigh just smirked and refilled their tumblers.

COLONIAL ONE

PRESIDENT'S QUARTERS

Cheering from every ship in the fleet sounded tinnily from the speakers on Laura's desk.

"Madam President?"

Laura Roslin turned to her aide. The fact that she no longer waited a beat to remember that she was the President both reassured and terrified her.

"Yes Billy."

The tall, awkward boy – no, young man paused, uncertain how to continue.

"Don't worry," Laura smiled, "I'm not going to bite, or give you detention. You have a question?"

Billy looked abashed, "I understand why you didn't tell the people the full story; the aliens and Republic and Empire, it's a bit much to take it, and I'm assuming we're going to break the news gently..."

He looked to her for conformation, and she nodded,

"However, you didn't mention anything about the Gods beyond talking vaguely about 're-establishing traditions,' and saying 'So Say We All...'"

he trailed off.

Her brow furrowed "Was there a problem with the speech?"

"No! Not at all – I remember watching one of Adar's addresses Madam President, he didn't get a reaction like this even _before_ the Teacher's Strike."

"What is it then?" she prompted

"We met people, other people from the galaxy and they don't know about the Gods. Most of the Gemenese and Saggiterons believe in the literal truth of the scriptures. Sarah Porter is going to have kittens-"

"She'll lose all credibility if she does," Laura remarked, deadpan, "The sacred scrolls have some pretty specific things to say on the matter of lying with the beasts."

Her aide did a double-take, and they both laughed quietly for a minute or so. Evidence that the the President of the Colonies had a sarcastic streak needed to be carefully suppressed lest the masses be offended.

"It's not just her." Billy said, picking up from where they had paused, "Tom Zarek is rapidly becoming very popular among the Saggiteron survivors. Tory thinks he will be "elected" as their Quorum representative, and you can bet he knows how to play the to the downtrodden and oppressed."

his features grew sharper, and his tone more bitter,

"Gods above, Madam President, he could have played me if I hadn't seen his little prison riot on the A_stral Queen- _what almost happened to Cally, and _Dee- _"Freedom Fighter" my ass."

Laura patted his shoulder, "Easy Billy. You know it, and I know it, but the poor and downtrodden don't, and they need a voice."

Her aide's jaw dropped, "Madam President, you can't seriously be considering-"

"What, exactly? Supporting Zarek? legitimizing him?" He nodded and Laura's expression grew predatory.

"I am _absolutely_ considering it," she replied in a quiet, dangerous voice, "I need to hear the voice of the masses, and while Tom Zarek is a rabble-rouser and a malcontent who gets his followers and influence from setting himself against the system, right now he has their ear and they his. I can't afford to lose touch with the common person, however easily they might be swayed by Zarek's rhetoric."

Billy nodded, as Laura continued,

"I remember radicals like him from university-hell, when I was young and easily impressed, I even dated a couple. I know the type. Once Tom Zarek has a taste of _established _political power, and has been embraced with open arms, he'll be forced to become part of the system he's been fighting all his life."

"I see," said Billy, "You're trying to alienate his base."

"Not necessarily," said Laura, pausing to pour two glasses of water-plotting was such thirsty work,

"If we can rehabilitate him in the eyes of the fleet and create an alliance with him, it may shift the attentions of the downtrodden from Sarah Porter's faction and marginalize them. The Gemonese and Saggiterons respond to Zarek's demagoguery more reliably than Porter's religious claptrap." She gave a twisted grin,

"Gods alone know that the last frakking thing I need when we finally reach Republic Space is a majority of idiot fundamentalists refusing to talk to the Republic Diplomats and hampering resettlement because the ambassadors 'Don't know of the Gods.' If I have to ally with a former terrorist to do so, then so be it."

"I'm still on the fence," Billy said, "This plan requires depending on Zarek to carry out your agenda, to follow our party line." He gave her a skeptical look, "How do you know he'll do what you want to?"

Laura felt a warm, almost maternal, glow of pride.

_Only a few weeks on the job and he's a brilliant schemer. _She thought,_ He'll make a good president someday, and sooner than he thinks._

"While Tom Zarek may be one of the most devious political manipulators of this generation." Laura admitted, "He frakked up with his demands after he took hostages. In effect, he made 'campaign promises' as he did so, with demands that I stand for re-election in due time." The president smiled nastily, resembling a vengeful demon.

"I'll stand for the re-election in eight months, thanks to Captain Apollo, but Zarek needs to give the people what _he_ promised:change for the better in the government and a new money system. Let him be the one to implement change from within the system. If he wants to pass anything, he'll owe us."

"And so was the wolf was chained and the day saved." Billy said, deadpan, quoting the end of a popular children's book.

"Precisely." Laura said, "And not before time. If we are going to deal with the New Republic government, a legitimized and victorious insurgency ,we need to make our own terrorists..."

"Fluffy?" asked Billy, raising an eyebrow, and clearly taking his humor cues from his boss.

"Sure," Laura sighed, "Let's go with that." She stretched and rolled her neck. "What's on the schedule for today?"

Billy quickly consulted his planner, "Meeting with the Captains of the _Gideon _and the _Tarbadek _to discuss supply transfers and storage, the _Greenleaf'_ is having trouble with her FTLs again, and-"

The President stalled him with a wave of her hand, "What about scheduling a meeting with the Civilian Liaison, the Lady Winter?"

Billy's brow wrinkled, I could push your 1300 meeting with the Cloud Nine Administrators..."

Laura shook her head, "No, that won't do...Invite her along with us, and we can talk along the way."

"Very good, Madam President," Billy nodded, as he made a notation in his planner, "I'll contact _Galactica _right away_._"

"Thank you Billy."

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA

WEDGE AND IELLA'S QUARTERS

Their sleep was only briefly interrupted by President Roslin's announcement, followed by cheering from every ship in the fleet before they figured out how to disengage the intercom on the wall. Iella almost shot it.

_After the near-worship displayed by the Adumari,_Wedge mused,_ simple happiness to see us is a nice change..._

After coming awake at some unnatural hour to the sound of "Reveille, Reveille," being broadcast over the intercom system, Wedge woke up next to his wife and had to take a few moments in processing yesterday's events to remember why he was on a lumpy bed in a such a dark room,

"Morning." he mumbled, feeling slightly jealous of the extra few seconds of sleep Iella had snatched as she stirred and stretched.

Wedge tried too, and after a few pops he upgraded his internal status from "barely active droid frozen in one position" to "pit droid sucked through a Podracer engine."

Oh well, at least his back felt better.

Together, they took one look at their spartan and dusty surroundings before deciding that if they were going to be miserable, they should at least be miserable with their friends.

After rousing Tycho and Winter, they went to Hobbie and Janson's quarters.

"Seems like they really like us, Boss." Tycho noted, coolly raising an eyebrow.

"Enough to wake us up with that racket," Hobbie groused, "No pressure, huh?"

"None at all." Wedge said, "Alright. To business- I'm going to get us a tour of the ship so we know the layout, and then we split up."

Everyone nodded. "Winter, you are going to be meeting President Roslin to get a look at the civilian side of things, and Iella, you, Hobbie and Wes do the same thing with Commander Adama. Tycho and I will join you after we take a look at the shuttle and see how bad the damage is, and if we'll be able to use it at all."

"Having it up and running would increase our chances dramatically," Winter said, "But it looked pretty bad. No hyperdrive or long range comms at least, and I think the thrusters were damaged."

"That's what we're going to find out. Anything I might have forgotten about before we contact the Commander?"

"Breakfast." Said Hobbie

"Caf." grumbled Iella.

"Pillows." Janson said dreamily, "And sheets. Soft sheets."

"I'll speak to the manager." Wedge sighed, rolling his eyes in a very un-General-like manner,

"Anything that doesn't relate to our accommodations?"

Tycho raised a hand, "Specs on their FTL engines to plot our trip back and figure out if the Cylons can pose a threat to the Republic?"

"Head of the class." Wedge said. "Now I'll just see if I can get this intercom..."

A discreet knock on the hatch interrupted them, and Wedge hauled the hatch open to find an olive-skinned young man in a neatly turned-out blue uniform standing outside and looking painfully earnest.

"Good morning sir, My name is Lieutenant Felix Gaeta, and in addition to my duties as Galactica's First Shift DRADIS Officer, I've been assigned as your liason during your stay aboard _Galactica_."

He gave a smooth salute, and held it until Wedge returned it.

_I was never that young. _Wedge thought.

"Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant," Wedge said, "I'm assuming you'll be giving us a tour of the ship?"

"Yes sir. Was there an area you wished to see first?"

"Well, we're a bit hungry..."

"Of course." Gaeta replied, looking embarrassed, "We must have forgotten to show you last night. My apologies to all of you."

He pointed down the corridor,

"The mess is this way." he turned to the group, and kept walking, backwards, pointing out directions to different parts of the ship along the way.

The smell of grease and the noise of dining began to pervade the corridor, and the group made a left turn into a mess hall that looked very much like the ones seen on New Republic vessels.

"What's good here?" Wedge asked Gaeta as they each grabbed a tray.

"Nothing's really spectacular..." said the Lieutenant as they made their way over to the servers, "...The potatoes are alright, but I'd avoid the powdered eggs-" He gestured at a pale yellow mass in one of the serving trays, "Nobody eats them. Rumor has it that those eggs have been in storage since the Cylon War."

"Stored for forty years?" Hobbie said, incredulously, sliding his tray along the metal counter and

looking dubiously at the eggs.

"Well like I said, nobody eats them." Gaeta replied, looking faintly amused, "Gods know how many times they've been dehydrated and reconstituted, but we may have to eat them someday, especially since most of the fresh stuff is going fast. There's no way to get more after the attacks-"

"Are you worried about running out of food soon?" Winter asked, piling potatoes and some sort of meat onto her tray,

"_Galactica _can go a year or more on rations and recycled water, and I think there's a botannical cruiser in the Fleet," Gaeta said, "But it's going to get tight on the civilian ships soon."

After they had filled their trays, the lieutenant moved to a battered silver cylinder about half the diameter of an astromech, and began to fill several cups with a steaming brown liquid that gave off an acrid smell, putting them on a tray before guiding them to a table.

"Try some of this." He said, passing out the cups after Wedge and his friends sat and began to make their attempts at eating the food, "Can't guarantee you'll like it but it should wake you up."

"Looks like caf." Iella said, in a slightly more upbeat tone than she had used previously.

Janson took a whiff of the steam coming off of the cups, "Smells like caf. What is it?"

"We call it coffee." Gaeta said, "Most people need it to wake up in the morning and I don't want to find out what'll happen when we run out of it," He blew on the cup in his hand, and took a satisfied slurp, "Probably mutiny."

Wedge raised his eyebrows, and the lieutenant blanched, "Ahhhhh only joking sir."

Janson smiled, "That's alright, lieutenant, most of the New Reupblic Fleet shares your sentiments regarding caf. And don't mind the General, he's always grumpy till' he's had his."

Gaeta looked at Wedge searching for a reaction to Janson's cavalier attiturde, but for the moment, Wedge had other priorities and was immersed in his study of the cup's contents. Wedge noticedthat a multicolored film covering the surface of the beverage bore a striking resemblance to machine oil, but his still-fogged state encouraged necessary experimentation.

He took a tentative sip, pronouncing it it good, before his wife and friends set upon their own cups with a will.

The "coffee" was less flavorful and far harsher than most of the caf Wedge had had in his years of service, but it did serve to pry his eyelids open and render everybody tired but attentive as they ate for the first time in a day or so.

"Do you have any other questions?"Gaeta inquired as they finished up.

"Yes," Janson said, gesturing with a fork, "Can you tell me how do you can walk backwards like you did earlier without falling over?"

"Practice." The younger man smiled, "In College I had to walk like when I gave tours to prospective students and their parents. Helped with rent."

"You're not career military?" Iella asked, evaluated him again.

Gaeta's smile grew bittersweet. "Not until the attacks. This was originally a three-year hitch to pay for graduate school. I wanted to study genetics. I suppose I have no choice now though."

"I'm sorry." she said.

"It's not your fault." he said, using a tone that signaled an end to that particular discussion, "If you are ready to continue the tour, your trays go in the bin near the door on your way out."

Iella nodded, unsure of what to say, and the tour continued. They saw sickbay, The engine rooms, and the forward observation lounge which offered an unparalleled view of the Fleet, before making their way to the Combat Information Center, where Lieutenant Gaeta resumed his post at an important-looking console.

Wedge was impressed by the location of the CIC, the brain of the ship was positioned behind the heaviest armor the _Galactica _had to offer, in a manner similar to that of a Mon Cal Cruiser or Star Destroyer's auxiliary bridge, and seemed to make more sense than placing it directly in the line of fire. He was amazed by the coordinated chaos of the cavernous, two-story chamber, as Commander Adama and Colonel Tigh issued order after order to the dozens of crewmen manning different stations around the room.

The Commander nodded a greeting, "Good morning General, I trust you and your party slept well."

"Well as could be expected," Wedge said, "Thank you for your hospitality. And the guide – Mr. Gaeta

was very helpful."

"He's one of my best." Adama said, "He volunteered to be contacted in his off-shift hours if you have any further questions."

"Generous of him." remarked Wedge, "I'll keep that in mind. Did you have any ideas about how we can help?"

"President Roslin has requested that your civilian liason, Winter accompany her on her itinerary to get a better idea about our situation."

Winter spoke up, "I can leave at your convenience, Commander."

"Good. We've got a Raptor ready to launch in ten minutes." He gestured a Marine over. "Corporal, take her to the launch bay."

Winter left with the soldier, and Adama turned to the rest of them. "I don't know how you knocked out those Cylon Raiders when you arrived, but if it's something you can duplicate, that would help a lot."

"That was us playing with the comm system." Wedge informed him, "I think it may be damaged along with the rest of the shuttle. Tycho and I will check it out, have the most mechanical experience, and the rest of you get to stick around and figure out how the military system works here. Commander, do you have anyone available for that?"

Adama turned to his Exec, "Who's free?"

"Starbuck" Tigh responded, "Probably in the mess playing triad – I'll have her take you to your ship."

He picked up a handset from the plotting table, "Lieutenant Thrace to the CIC, at the double."

"Thank you Colonel" Wedge said.

"Don't mention it General," he rasped, "I just hope you can fix your ship enough to frag some more toasters."

"So do we, Colonel." Iella said, and turned to Wedge and Tycho. "Any idea if the _Intellect _can fly again?"

"Won't know 'till we take a look at it." said Tycho, "We should check it out now, but it may take some time. If you have any spare deck crew, they might be able to help."

"Starbuck should be here in a few minutes," Tigh said, "and I'll get Chief Tyrol on the horn. Take all the time you need."

Wedge nodded, "Sounds good. Let's get to work."

********End of Chapter********


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: Flight of Fancy**

**BATTLESTAR GALACTICA**

**PORT LAUNCH BAY**

**VIPER LAUNCH TUBE  
**

"**Run-up!"**

**The tube's catapult mechanism settled over the skid of Wedge's Viper with a solid –KA-**_**chunk**_**-shaking the lightly-built fighter and giving him fifth thoughts about this 'flying lesson.' He had already had his second, third and fourth thoughts after Starbuck told a rating to capture images of each of them, saying, "That's in case you don't come back."**

**Then came the announcement from Captain Kelly, the Landing Signals Officer, the one Wedge dreaded and secretly hoped for simultaneously:**

****Red One, you are clear to launch.****

_**And to think that all of this started with a broken shuttle. **_**Wedge thought, bracing for massive acceleration and hoping that his face wouldn't end up gracing the Galactica's Memorial Wall.**

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA

PORT FLIGHT POD

SHUTTLE _PHANAN'S INTELLECT_

SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER

"Looks pretty frakked up," said Chief Tyrol, as he bent to examine an opened panel with exposed fiber-optic cables. "Let me guess," He said, standing up to glance at a screen showing the status of the comm system, which showed diagnostics flickering intermittently in varying shades of bloodred,

"Red means bad for you guys too, huh?"

"For most humans or near-humans." Wedge said, "Verpine and some other species can see in many light spectrums, so their diagnostics get a bit confusing sometimes."

"What are Verpines?" asked Chief.

"It's Verpine, singular. They're an insectile species who excel in starship construction and maintenance." Tycho said, as he pulled up an image from his datapad. "One of them, called Zraii, is our squadron mechanic."

Tyrol scrutinized the alien physique and looked at the arms of various sizes, "Huh. Small hands. Looks like he'd come in handy on my hangar deck. Then again, we're so shorthanded now, I'll take just about anyone."

Wedge decided he liked the stocky, pragmatic man. The Chief's dedicated yet cynical manner would be right at at home on any ship in the fleet. Galen Tyrol shouldn't have as much trouble as some of the other Colonials he had observed in adapting to a galactic society filled with so many vastly diverse lifeforms, but to be sure, the Corellian decided to test him.

"Anyone?" He asked, and raised his voice "Gate? C'mon out."

Mournful tootling came from another section of the ship.

"It's okay," Wedge coaxed, "Nobody's gonna hurt you."

Finally, a red and white R5 extended his middle tread and rolled into the cockpit.

"_Lords of Kobol!"_ The Chief exclaimed, edging away, "What the frak is that thing?"

"Chief, meet R5-G8, or Gate, for short." Said Wedge, "He's an astromech droid. Gate rides in the back of my X-wing and functions as a navigator, in-flight mechanic, and occasionally as a backseat pilot.

"He?" asked Tyrol, "It has a gender?"

"Most droids tend to develop a distinct personality after a while if you avoid frequent memory wipes." Tycho said," "Some are male, others are female, and barring a malicious slicer or a really unlikely programming error, none of them want to kill us. In fact, Gate is always complaining about Wedge's flying being too risky."

The Droid gave a rude blatt, which sounded as if a human had blown air through their lips.

Chief Tyrol couldn't help but smile as Wedge instructed the astromech to take a look at fixing the comm system, and as the four of them bent to the task, he noticed the Chief's knack for machinery didn't just extend to the inanimate parts of a starship as he began to build a nearly instant rapport with the little droid, and tried to distinguish the tones that issued forth for each response.

_It's a small step forward,_ Wedge thought,_ and __I hope there will be more like it. Gate can be an incredible asset on the Hangar Deck, and that's one step closer to getting him into CIC to take a look at the navigation records. That'll shorten our trip home even more._

"Okay. Try it now." Said Tycho, up to his shoulders in wiring.

Wedge hit the console, and the shuttle's engines started to warm up, only to be interrupted by a shrill whine as they failed to initiate and the capacitors wound down.

"Sithspit! That's the fifth time. How bad is it, Tych?"

The blond man consulted a readout panel and shrugged.

"Pretty bad. I think Gate's done with his analysis. Do you want a list, or a play-by-play."

Wedge thought for a moment. "Tell me what it happened, as it happened. Then let's see if we can get her running again."

Tycho turned to the droid and spoke in a conciliatory tone, "Alright Gate, you heard the General, now show us what happened."

The waist-high Astromech tootled mournfully and plugged into the cockpit's computer port. As he did so, schematics began to flash in a sequence too rapid for a living eye to process.

"Woah! Woah Gate!" Wedge said, waving his hands in a frantic "Cut" motion, "Slow it down a bit, we can't see that."

Tycho smirked "I think he's still unhappy about the Chief leaving, Wedge. Not to mention the restraining bolt."

"You think?" He turned to the droid, "Look. You know what the Cylons did to these people, it was either that, or deactivate you permanently. And the Chief got called away to fix Lt. Valerii's ship."

More beeps came, very mischievous in tone, and followed by a very rude _blatt! _Tycho smiled.

That was uincalled for! I wouldn't let them deactivate you.." Wedge said, patting the droid's flowerpot dome for reassurance,"And you're right." he continued, "I do think he and the Lieutenant are an item, but it's probably against regs. The Chief will be back soon, and Lieutentant Valerii seemed to like you too."

"These people are our best hope for now. Even though they are a mite twitchy." He gave a pointed look to Gate, "And the best way we can help them is to fix the shuttle."

An inquiring tootle issued from the droid, as he shifted from tread to tread.

"and we need your help to try and do that." Wedge prompted.

The images slowed down and the sequence began again.

"Thank you Gate." said the General, promptly turning to his Second-in-command, "okay, Tych, Show me just how broken this ship is."

The blond man nodded, indicating the first image;

"Well, as you can see here, when the motivator blew it took out the port side control relays, and when those went, it slagged half the port side cannons, stressing the linkages to the starboard guns so much that if we fired them they would they would likely melt after only a few shots."

Wedge grimaced – he didn't like being in an unarmed ship – and held up his hand to pause Tycho.

"Wait. Let me guess. It gets worse."

"Yes." said Tycho, raising an eyebrow, "How did you know?"

Now it was Wedge's turn to give a knowing smirk, "You always save the worst news for last- must be that holodrama obsession of yours. Ending with good news doesn't always hurt, you know."

"It does if the bad news saved for last is 'Don't touch that panel, it'll electrocute you!'"Tycho deadpanned.

Wedge jerked his hand back from an instrument panel he had been about to examine before noticing it was powered down, and he shot Tycho a poisonous look.

"I'll get you for that, you know."

"I'm sure," Tycho drawled. "Isn't _General _Wedge Antilles, Diplomatic Envoy above that low sort of revenge?"

Wedge gave his friend a smile toothier than one found on a Shistavanean used-speeder salesman.

"I don't know. Maybe I am. But why don't you ask Wes what prompted the Great Ewok Hunt?"

The Alderaanian raised an eyebrow, "The one that ended with him naked in front of the Wraiths holding a stuffed Lt. Kettch?"

Wedge, still smiling dangerously, nodded. As Tycho paled.

"Consider my statement withdrawn then."

"I always knew you were the smart one." Wedge said, "Just don't tell Wes I said that."

"Done." promised Tycho

"Anyway, when those melted the feedback bled into the cockpit systems. Luckily the safeties worked for the most part, we still have shortrange comms, subspace sensors and the control runs. So we can fly the ship. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Gate says the hyperwave sensors got mostly fried, as well as the entire targeting computer. And of course that secondhand motivator's shot so there's no hyperdrive even if we could see where we were going...plus_, _backwash was strong enough to bleed off into the energy cells."

"Meaning?"

"If we fix the energy cells, patch the port linkages into the starboard cannons, and slice together short-range comms and enough of a sensor package to fly and shoot with with from that Wraith goody bag in the smuggling compartment, it'll take weeks. But we've still got a power problem. According to Gate, we can fly the ship, fire the weapons, or raise the shields, but not at the same time."

"Somehow I don't think the Cylons will give us weeks." Wedge mused, "I'll ask Captain Adama for a rundown on their fighters so we can do _something_ to protect these people. We can fix the shuttle when we have spare time."

"All right," said Tycho, "What do you want me to do?"

"Go comm Wes and Hobbie. Tell them we have some new toys to play with."

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA

PILOT BRIEFING ROOM

With Lt. Thrace of training the less-experienced "nuggets" in basic flight skills, it was left to Lee Adama to brief them on the new fighters they would be flying. Despite his rapport with Thrace, Wedge was glad to get the chance to evaluate the younger Adama.

His briefing was efficient and to the point , which quelled any lingering fears Wedge had about the Commander favoring his son for the position of CAG over another officer with more ability.

Clearly he knew his business. Picture slides of the Colonial Viper MK II were distributed, and then Adama went into a brief rundown of the Viper's performance qualities and main weapon systems.

Across the table Wedge could see Hobbie mouthing "Kinetics?" at him as the "Captain Apollo" began his description.

"…The Mark Two boasts twin 30mm mass drivers mounted in the wings, with an eight hundred round magazine. The rate of fire is twenty rounds a second…"

Doing the light math in his head, it came to forty seconds of sustained fire and Wedge had to suppress a wince. Even though an X-Wing's quad Lasers could fire only once a second at full power, the single fire setting could discharge at close to the Vipers firing rate, with even those under-powered shots packing far more destructive force than the Viper's guns.

_Never mind the fact the X-wing could keep firing indefinitely and the laser cannons would melt from overuse before the power ran out, Or that the Viper's acceleration and maneuverability was negligible, even compared to a DIE-Wing_

Ammunition constraints for anything other than missiles were not something he was used to working under in a dogfight.

Unfortunately the Captain had informed them missile components were difficult to assemble aboard, so for now, missiles were reserved solely for strike missions.

_Still, _Thought Wedge, _The design elements are solid. Swap those mass drivers for two Taim and Baks, throw in some Novaldexx Engines and shields, and you've got a compact fighter that could really dance and sting._

Even though it took place on a new ship within a completely different society, the briefing felt comfortable for some reason, like a trip back in time to the bad old days, flying with his friends for the chronically-under supplied Rebel Alliance.

But this time, he was reduced to throwing rocks.

_The only consolation was the other side is going to be throwing rocks right back at me. With no shields, that's small comfort._

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA

LOCKER ROOM

Pulling on the Colonial flightsuits was strange. They fit more tightly than the ones issued in eye-hurting orange by the New Republic Starfighter Command. However, everyone was pleased with the helmets, which offered a better view than the mask of an Imperial pilots and a full atmospheric enclosure that would be more reliable than the magcon field on an X-Wing ejector seat.

Let me get this straight," Hobbie said, sealing the top seam of his flightsuit, "In little more than a month, we've gone from honor-obsessed dilettantes trying to kill us because we're famous to traveling the Unknown Regions with the paranoid survivors of the genocide of a dozen lost Corellian colonies-destroyed, I might add, by the lunatic droids that they themselves created,"

He paused to take a breath,

"Droids who are now capable of looking like anyone, and the only ships we can fight them in are so fragile and backward they wouldn't even pass muster in an Outer Rim system defense force if you bribed the inspection teams?"

"Succinctly put," said Wedge, "Your point?"

The gloomy pilot shrugged. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I think a substantial pay raise is in order."

"So comm your Senate Representative with a request when we get back." Wedge sighed, attaching the gloves over the suit sleeves.

_He was getting too old for this…Sithspit, he had been born too old for this._

"If we get back," Hobbie muttered, "Like it'll matter. Senate Appropriations is more tightfisted than a Hutt with arthritis."

"Oh, cheer up Hobbie," said Tycho, taking the opportunity to badger him further "It's not like we're officially serving with the Republic Fleet on this one-Odds are they'll say we weren't on duty, so no combat pay."

Then Janson, who had remained uncharacteristically silent let out his breath with a -_houff-_ stood up, and picked up his newly issued helmet, which for some reason had the number 1000 painted along the top in red.

"Let's do this. Wes said, "Hopefully we'll buy a plot in those delightful flying caskets before I have to hear another one of your motivational speeches."

then he brightened,

"Besides, if we survive, there's a guaranteed holodrama in it."

"Seriously, think about it; Janson said, ignoring a few blank looks, and pressing on, "Mysterious colony of humans from the Unknown regions pursued by an evil force of droids?"

"and then four brave and handsome pilots-"

"Four?" Iella interrupted, "I only see three. Oh," She glanced at the grandstanding Tanaabian and cocked her head, "Right, and their pet mynock."

"You wound me," Wes said, clutching his chest in an overly dramatic fashion.

"Somehow, I imagine your ego will survive," Iella deadpanned. "Besides, don't you four have ships to fly?"

"Don't remind me." said Hobbie.

"Run-up!"

The tube's catapult mechanism settled over the skid of Wedge's Viper with a solid –KA-_chunk_-

And here he was, sitting in a rickety craft powered by the most basic of chemical reactions, a ship that even a suicidal TIE jockey would fill his flightsuit at the prospect of entering as he waited for a primitive magnetic catapult to hurl him into space.

**Red One," Captain Kelly's voice sounded in his ear, "You are cleared to launch.**

A muted _Thud-bump_ later and the Viper was speeding down the launch tube, and its pilot, General Wedge Antilles, who had of late spent most of his time directing battles from the bridge of the Super Star Destroyer _Lusankya_ or flying a desk instead of high-preformance fighter-craft realized that the acceleration mashing him into his seat and pulling his cheeks back into a rictus grin wasn't the only reason he was smiling.

_I haven't had this much fun in months._

************End of Chapter*********


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **Here's the next chapter. Credit to 's for most of the Adama/Baltar conversation, and Beta credit to Crazedwraith of . Any remaining errors are my fault entirely

Sorry for the long time between updates.

**Chapter Nine: Settling In**

For Wedge, flying the Viper brought back memories of his tenth birthday, when Booster had visited Gus Tetra and with his parents' tacit approval 'borrowed' some maintenance hoppers, giving him and Mirax their first flying lesson. They were light, flimsy craft with rudimentary systems and lacking life support, and inertial dampers. Booster deemed them perfect to learn the mechanics of zero-gee flight.

As he looked up at the stars through the visor of his vac suit during those early days, Wedge had never felt so unfettered.

As he maneuvered the fragile fighter, some of that freedom returned. There were no galaxies to save, no fleets to command, and no cynical politicians out to make him a hero, just him and the thin layer of the vac suit against the jewled blackness of space, pushing the limits of a new fighter.

_I wonder how long it will last this time. _Wedge mused, as he tried to get a feel for the Viper.Although it was orders of magnitude slower than anything he had previously flown, Wedge used their handling characteristics as a baseline.

While the Viper lacked the speed-demon characteristics of the A-wing or the reassuring solidity of Y-Wings and the clunky Adumari Blades he had so recently flown, the craft seemed to respond to his slightest motion as if he was willing rather than directing the craft to move. More than anything else it reminded him of his aging and much beloved X-Wing which could still take on the best the Imps had to offer.

_With the right pilot of course._

As Wedge and his wingmates put the new craft through their paces at Starbuck's prompting, he hoped that they could gain enough expertise with them to be effective against the Cylons.

_But that won't matter a bit if we can't build a rapport with the Colonials themselves. We need to use Gate's navigational readings after each jump to get home faster, and they don't trust us enough for that yet. The President trusts us enough to show Winter around the fleet and see them at their worst, but Adama has been a bit more wary, and Col. Tigh isn't helping._

Following suit as Starbuck ordered another inversion and acceleration in the other direction, or as she put it, a "Turn and Burn," he wondered how Winter and Iella were doing...

LUXURY LINER _CLOUD NINE_

CENTRAL GREEN

"...we're thinking about removing some of this grass and turning the area into a large-scale vegetable garden. Our Purser's arranging for seeds from the Botannical Cruiser, but if you can put us in touch with the _Demetrius, _we can get treated fertilizer. That'll make the plants grow better and give the passengers something else to occupy their time. We're going to be running short on vitamin supplements soon, and the fresh vegetables will be a good replacement source..."

As the _Cloud Nine _Rep nattered on, Laura Roslin felt more and more discomfited every time she glanced at the mysterious Winter Retrac. The sight of such striking white hair on a young woman aside, her entire manner was different, and her bearing was almost regal.

Unlike most Colonials faced with the apocalypse and a president who had been an unknown quantity before it, Winter was calm, polite and deferential during the tour, asking seemingly innocuous questions which later seemed to define problems that the colonials had not seen as soon as they had arrived on board nearly an hour ago.

Questions like: "Given your situation, would it be possible to convert these gardens to agricultural or hydroponic production?" Which had resulted in the last three hours of discussion about the difficulties and possible benefits involved, and Winter's official promotion to Presidential Aide. The younger woman had looked briefly amused, and muttered something about "Supplying ragtag fleets" being a calling before creating a rough-draft proposal for the plantings out of thin air.

Laura had authorized it in the end, while requesting that a small more natural-looking grotto remain untouched for the fleet to be able to enjoy.

One of the benefits of the Presidency after the Apocalypse was occasional privacy when she asked for it, so now Laura was letting Winter handle the logistical arrangements while she took a few minutes to indulge herself in the grotto, spreading her coat on the dirt and placing the battered sensible flats next to it as she dangling her feet in a pool of burbling water, taking a few minutes' time to really revel in the smell of trees, grass and wet dirt for the first time since the attacks.

Until she remembered that little girl on the other Botannical Cruiser that she had ordered abandoned along with all the other sublight ships on that first day. The one who she had talked to in an environment much like this one, and who had surely died in fire.

_Her name was Camie. She was going to meet her family at the Caprica City Spaceport, _Laura remembered, _Her family was going to make chicken pie, and she had a rag doll with yellow hair and. And I left her to die but I can't remember her face anymore. I will find no more peace here today, and I need to do __**something**__._

Soft footsteps behind Laura interrupted her reverie, "Are you all right, Madam President?" asked Winter.

"Yes, thank you Winter. Just remembering some of the more unpleasant choices I've had to make lately, and trying to persuade myself into another one- Building a bridge with Tom Zarek before the religious kooks do."

Laura couldn't delay anymore and pulled her feet out of the water, shaking the worst of the droplets off before pulling her shoes on and rising, brushing most of the dirt off of the jacket.

But not all of it. Laura had certain appearances to keep up, and being spic and span on a former prison ship would not get her taken seriously by its former inmates.

"Zarek the terrorist?" Winter asked

"I'm surprised you people aren't calling him a freedom fighter given that your own government was formed from a successful insurgency." Roslin replied, and held up a hand to forestall immediate response, "I'm not judging, just curious."

The younger woman nodded, long white hair moving smoothly over her shoulders, "The elader of my home planet had a saying once, about our movement in the early days when Imperial propaganda labeled us as terrorists."

Her voice changed in pitch and timbre, growing deeper and more deliberate, "Today's terrorists are tomorrow's freedom fighters. She gave a brief smile, "But only if we achieve victory."

"Also," she said, voice returning to normal, "The officially sanctioned Alliance of Free Planets obeyed the codified rules of war, and all of us joined from cells which followed those rules. Most of the time. When you're fighting a galaxy-spanning tyrannical dictator with supernatural powers, it becomes hard to draw a firm line on acceptable tactics all the time."

Winter's eyes grew far away for a minute, and she continued,

"Some of the Sector moffs and Ubiqutorate bureaucrats who were working thousands of sentients to death on a daily basis would come home to their families, tuck their children in at night, and bring back trinkets they had stolen from the dead for their wives and mistresses. Sometimes those people became leveraged for better treatment of nonhumans in the camps and mega-factories."

"As far as Mr. Zarek goes, we have little respect for a man who was offered release from prison in exchange for labor, but compromised the safety of the fleet to score political points. The fact that he used hardened convicts to hold young women hostage makes it worse in our eyes."

"Does your planet's leader feel as though the Alliance's victory was justified by the means used to procure it?" Roslin asked.

"I never got to find out," Winter said softly, "He died when Alderaan was destroyed by the empire over ten years ago. Bail Organa raised me side by side with his own daughter Leia, who had to watch as our world burned. Tycho was in Imperial service talking to his family as it happened." Her expression grew sad for a moment, "For thousands of years we had a reputation as pacifist philosophers with strong ethics. After the holocaust over eighty percent of able survivors joined the Alliance Fleet and requested frontline service."

"I'm sorry," Laura said, "I didn't know."

"It's all right." Winter said, "You've had your own hardships as bad or worse. Just don't let it drag you down. Make deals with who you have to, but don't give away too much out of guilt. Watch Zarek, but also keep in mind that he at least tried to keep the hostages safe while he negotiated."

"I'll bear that in mind." Laura said. "Thank you for your honesty. Now I have to beard the revolutionary in his den. Can you handle things here."

The white-haired woman smiled again, "This would not be the first time I organized the supply system for a refugee fleet."

"Oh?" Laura raised an eyebrow, out of curiosity, what other fields are you qualified in?"

"Of what hasn't been classified?" Winter asked, and the President nodded, "Quartermaster, intelligence analysis, negotiation, personal assistant, slicing, bodyguard, demolitions, and childcare."

"Okay," Laura said, "I'm impressed. You've got the job, and you can start today. The hours are terrible, the perks are awful, and you get paid mostly in food.

"Best offer I've had all week." Winter said straight faced, and turned to go.

"Winter-" Laura said, and the other woman turned back, "Thank you for letting me draft you for this."

Winter's expression grew serious. "Madam President, your actions are saving lives. If you hadn't used me to help these people in some way, I'd be worried about you."

And then she left to oversee the plantings. Laura smiled and walked towards her shuttle.

BATTLESTAR _GALACTICA_

BRIEFING ROOM

Adama sat in the same room where they had first talked with their strange visitors. Except this time, it was just him and Doctor Baltar, who was trying to explain how far behind Colonial technology was compared to the wonders possessed by the Republic,

"Just try, try and understand this Commander, that Mr. Janson fellow let me examine this. He called it a Datapad. They had several, and he said that even the meanest farmer on any halfway decent world owned one. Look, full holographic interface, video playback and recording functions, even dictation, for Frak's sake."

" And here, according to the help files this model comes loaded standard with "-ten thousand of the most common forms of verbal and written communication in the galaxy-" If my conversion figures are correct this thing has enough storage space and processing power to rival a full on university or government computer lab back on Caprica. And you want to know how smart that "droid" of theirs is?"

Adama knew better than to stop Baltar when he had reached mid-rant mode. He just made a 'continue' gesture, which the doctor ignored anyway.

"Well Commander I can't even quantify. I have absolutely no idea.

This Datapad here is just a personal aid, that... thing... is a full on faster than light navigation tool, in addition to being a repairman on par with your Chief Tyrol, and running code hundreds of times faster than all the Galatica's CIC computers combined."

"Not bad for something that acts like an squeaky trashcan." Adama muttered.

"Just don't let the 'trashcan' hear you say that Commander, he may be hurt."

"_He?_" Adama asked in a soft, dangerous tone, "Have you forgotten what your navigation program let these things do to us so quickly, that you want to make it a person? Give it a _gender_?"

Darkness passed briefly over the smaller man's face as he pondered something, seeming to listen to one of the voices in his head, before deciding on a course of action

"This "droid" and the Cylons are not one and the same, Commander. In fact, I am given to understand that it performs duties equivalent to a Raptor ECO in General Antilles' fighter craft, making it a combat veteran of their own struggle for survival."

After staring into space for a minute, Baltar oriented back to Adama and his expression became a mocking one, "How many combat missions have you flown recently Commander?"

Baltar received a steel-rimmed glare from the older man, his burst of courage fleeing just as quickly as it had arrived.

"Sorry," he babbled, "It's just that it's a completely different culture. We have no standards for comparison, except that I wonder if all of their women are that nice-looking. Did you happen to know where they went? I wanted to-er- talk to them. Cultural exchange and all that."

Adama briefly contemplated bludgeoning Baltar to death with the room's coffee pitcher before deciding it would be a crucial misallocation of strategic resources, and forced himself to reply to the gadfly,

"Ms. Retrac is currently shadowing the President, and _Mrs._ Wessiri Antilles has agreed to help you with your Cylon hunt. Apparently she's a former detective."

"Actually, Commander I was hoping perhaps you could assign the task to Mr. Gaeta, his professional manner and grounding in scientific study would give him a better basis for understanding the scientific terminology."

Baltar smiled, "He's a bright young man, you know"

"Yes. Mr. Gaeta is one of my best Dradis operators." Adama retorted, "However, In his _copious_ amounts of spare time, he is now assisting the newcomers as a liaison officer. You'll work with the woman."

Baltar blinked several times, "A-actually Commander, at this stage, I would work better in solitude, and even though Mrs. Antilles may be a proficient investigator, adding her to this project would, I believe be a waste of her talents. The woman has no scientific background. She'd hardly be able to lend a hand with my research."

"Perhaps." rumbled Adama, "But the woman's a trained investigator. She's tenacious and inquisitive. I'd guess you would hardly be able to keep up with _her_ in a combat setting. So here's how it's going to work, Doctor Baltar. You find the Cylon agents in my fleet, and Wessiri Antilles keeps you alive while bringing them in. You start your partnership in half an hour, and if you are dumb enough to try anything with her, you deserve whatever broken bones you get. Have I made myself clear?"

"Abundantly Commander." Baltar replied, "Er, shall I go now?"

"Yes," Adama said, manfully resisting the temptation to roll his eyes, "You're dismissed Doctor."

ASTRAL QUEEN  
CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS

For Tom Zarek, it appeared that the old cliché of 'prison changing a man" was true. While his voice had been passionate and fiery on the wireless, in person he was a far cry from his archived photographs, looking haggard and weary. Whatever spark had once animated him was reduced to embers, but Laura noticed that the events of recent weeks had fanned them into life a bit.

For starters, he actually tried to charm her.

Roslin halted his efforts with an incredulously raised eyebrow. "You don't know me, Tom, so I'll give you credit for the attempt, but it doesn't mean I'll respond your puerile romantic overtures like some over-privileged Caprican University Student who wants to irk her daddy by frakking you."

"And don't think for one godsdamn minute that I need you to teach this poor, helpless Schoolmistress how to run this fleet of refugees, while ensuring that there is absolute equality, and making everything all better either. If I wanted personal time with a sagging revolutionary, I'd sit in my office swivel chair."

Zarek snorted, but was kept from more by a burning glare, as Roslin continued,

"I'm sorry, Tom, for a moment there, I actually forgot you were a terrorist who used indiscriminate violence and leveraged the deaths of innocent men and women _to publish a book_ and set back Caprican-Saggitaron relations _by a decade at the least_."

Zarek's eyes hardened, and the charming celebrity's mask slipped a bit, revealing what he must have looked like as a young fire-eater.

"Believe it or not, Laura, everything I did has been to uphold the rights and freedoms granted by the Colonial Charter-"

"You took hostages!" she shot back, angered now

"I used the tools I had available to affect positive change."

"Shove the soundbite up your ass, Zarek, and tell me exactly what 'positive change' you think we need."

"This is a new, transient society. We need a meaningful currency," he ground out, "We need assured equality under the law for everyone, we need a thousand other things-but most of all, we need political accountability-and that, Laura starts at the top. I didn't call for new elections because I dislike you personally, but because I wanted you to abide by the Presidential term under which you had been appointed-Adar's term."

"You're right." Said Laura, "We need schools," She continued, "and a culture, and jobs, and a better society." But now, Tom, right now, we need to survive. We buy our survival with food, water, fuel. And when we have time, we build again. When it's time to step down, I'll step down."

"At the end of your term?

"You're assuming I won't stand for re-election" said the President.

"If you lose, how can I be sure you'll abide by a verbal agreement made off the record?"

"I won't lose. I'll have the best Vice-Presidential Candidate on the ballot." She gave a wry grin, and pointed,

"You."

"Me?" He asked, disbelief in his voice.

"Contrary to what you may believe, I don't hate you, Tom," She sighed, "On some level, despite your methods, I envy you. You managed to keep your idealism and a dream in for a better society intact. I started losing mine when Adar sent the Marines to break up the Teacher's strike, and realized it was gone entirely when the Presidency passed to me."

"All the insults, the accusations?" Zarek looked thoughtful

"A test. I never wanted this job, never asked for this responsibility. But it's mine all the same. I want someone to balance the needs of the average person with the necessity of building a new society, where taking an interest in the ship you're living on or the fact that we are all Colonials matters more than the name of the presently-radioactive piece of dirt you were born on or what you think the gods tell you."

Zarek's eyebrows rose,

"Abandon the Quorum?"

"No. Change it." she said curtly, "But the man who helps me with that has to be more than an aging radical with a death fixation."

The aging radical paused before speaking, "That's a sharp tongue you've got, Madam President.

"Take a seat and let's talk."

********End of Chapter*********


End file.
